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THE  STROLLERS 


THE  STROLLERS 


By  FREDERIC  S.  ISHAM 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

HARRISON  FISHER 


INDIANAPOLIS 
THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


I 


Copyright  1902 
The  Bowen-Merrill  Company 

March 


HktSS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH   A   CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND   PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN.    N.  Y. 


THE  STROLLERS 


2227857 


CONTENTS 


PEOLOGDB 

THE  MARQUIS'  HONEYMOON 
I 

BOOK   I 

ON    THE    CIRCUIT   IN    THE   WILDERNESS 

CHAPTER 

I    THE  TRAVELERS'  FRIEND  11 

II    A  NEW  ARRIVAL  82 

III  AN  INCOMPREHENSIBLE  VENTURE  47 

IV  GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES,  O!  58 
V    A  CONFERENCE  IN  THE  KITCHEN  71 

VI    THE  DEPARTURE  OF  THE  CHARIOT  79 

VII    SOJOURNING  IN  ARCADIA  86 

VIII    FLIPPING  THE  SHILLING  98 

IX    SAMPLING  THE  VINTAGES  110 

X    SEALING  THE  COMPACT  121 

XI    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SOLDIER  135 

XII    AN  ECCENTRIC  JAILER  143 


CONTENTS ' 

CHAPTEE  PAGE 

XIII  THE  COMING  OF  LITTLE  THUNDER  155 

XIV  THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MANOR  171 
XV    A  HASTY  EXIT  177 

XVI    THE  COUNCIL  AT  THE  TOWN  PUMP  189 

XVII    THE  HAND  FERRY  202 

BOOK    II 

DESTINY  AND  THE   MARIONETTE 

I    THE  FASTIDIOUS  MARQUIS  213 

II   ONLY  AN  INCIDENT  226 

III  AT  THE  RACES  234 

IV  LEAR  AND  JULIET  252 
V    THE  MEETING  BENEATH  THE  OAKS  268 

VI    A  BLOT  IN  THE  'SCUTCHEON  277 

VII    A  CYNICAL  BARD  289 

VIII    THE  SWEETEST  THING  IN  NATURE  310 

IX    A  DEBUT  IN  THE  CRESCENT  CITY  323 

X    LAUGHTER  AND  TEARS  335 

XI    THE  PASSING  OF  A  FINE  GENTLEMAN  344 

XII    IN  THE  OLD  CEMETERY  362 

XIII    AN  INCONGRUOUS  ROLE  872 


CONTENTS 
BOOK  III 

THE   FINAL   CUE 

CHAPTEK  PAGE 

I    OVERLOOKING  THE  COURT- YARD  887 

II    ONLY  A  SHADOW  399 

III  FROM  GARRET  TO  GARDEN  412 

IV  THE  BEST  OF  LIFE  420 
V    THE  LAWYER'S  TIDINGS  428 

VI    THE  COUNCIL  OF  WAR  436 

VII   A  MEETING  ON  THE  MOUNT  450 

VIII    A  FAIR  PENITENT  464 

IX    COMUS'  MISTICK  WITCHERIES  476 

X   CONSTANCE  AND  THE  SOLDIER  488 


PROLOGUE 


THE  STROLLERS 


PROLOGUE 
THE  MARQUIS'  HONEYMOON 

Old  Drury  Lane  rang  with  applause  for  the  per- 
formance of  Madame  Carew.  Of  British-French  par- 
entage, she  was  a  recognized  peer  among  the  favorite 
actresses  on  the  English  stage  and  a  woman  whose 
attractions  of  face  and  manner  were  of  a  high  order. 
She  came  naturally  by  her  talents,  being  a  descendant 
of  Madame  de  Panilnac,  famed  as  an  actress,  con- 
fidante of  Louise-Benedicte,  Duchess  du  Maine,  who 
originated  the  celebrated  nuits  blanches  at  Sceaux 
during  the  close  of  Louis  XIV's  reign. 

The  bill  for  the  evening  under  consideration  was 
"Adrienne  Lecouvreur"  and  in  no  part  had  the  actress 
been  more  natural  and  effective.  Her  triumph  was 
secure,  for  as  the  prologue  says : 

"Your  judgment  given — your  sentence  must  remain; 
No  writ  of  error  lies — to  Drury  Lane." 

3 


4  THE   STROLLERS 

She  was  the  talk  of  the  day  and  her  praises  or  defi- 
ciencies were  discussed  by  the  scandal-carriers  of  the 
town;  the  worn-out  dowagers,  the  superannuated 
maidens,  the  "tabernacle  gallants,"  the  male  members 
of  the  tea  tables  and  all  the  coxcombs,  sparks  and 
beaux  who  haunted  the  stage  door. 

The  player  had  every  stimulus  to  appear  at  her  best 
on  this  particular  evening,  for  the  audience,  frivolous, 
volatile,  taking  its  character  from  the  loose,  weak 
king,  was  unusually  complaisant  through  the  presence 
of  the  first  gentleman  of  Europe.  As  the  last  of  the 
Georges  declared  himself  in  good-humor,  so  every 
toady  grinned  and  every  courtly  flunkey  swore  in  the 
Billingsgate  of  that  profanely  eloquent  period  that  the 
actress  was  a  "monstrous  fine  woman." 

With  rare  discretion  and  spirit  had  the  latter  played, 
a  queenly  figure  in  that  ribald,  gross  gathering.  She 
had  reached  the  scene  where  the  actress  turns  upon 
her  tormentors,  those  noble  ladies  of  rank  and  posi- 
tion, and  launches  the  curse  of  a  soul  lashed  beyond 
endurance.  Sweeping  forward  to  confront  her  adver- 
saries, about  to  face  them,  her  troubled  glance  chanced 
to  fall  into  one  of  the  side  boxes  where  were  seated  a 
certain  foreign  marquis,  somewhat  notorious,  and  a 
lady  of  insolent,  patrician  bearing.  The  anticipated 
action  was  arrested,  for  at  sight  of  the  nobleman  and 
his  companion,  Adrienne  swayed  slightly,  as  though 
moved  by  a  new  overpowering  emotion.  Only  for  a 
moment  she  hesitated,  then  fixing  her  blazing  eyes 
upon  the  two  and  lifting  her  arm  threateningly,  the 


PROLOGUE  5 

bitter  words  flowed  from  her  lips  with  an  earnestness 
that  thrilled  the  audience.  A  pallor  overspread  the 
face  of  the  marquis,  while  the  lady  drew  back  behind 
the  draperies,  almost  as  if  in  fear.  At  the  conclusion 
of  that  effort  the  walls  echoed  with  plaudits ;  the  actress 
stood  as  in  a  trance;  her  face  was  pale,  her  figure 
seemed  changed  to  stone  and  the  light  went  out  of  her 
eyes. 

f  She  fainted  and  fell  and  the  curtain-  descended 
quickly.  The  woman  by  the  marquis'  side,  who  had 
trembled  at  first,  now  forced  a  laugh,  as  she  said: 
"The  trollop  can  curse !  Let  us  go."  Together  they 
left  the  bo'x,  the  marquis  regretting  the  temerity  which 
had  led  him  to  bring  his  companion  to  the  theater. 
He,  too,  was  secretly  unnerved,  and,  when  they  en- 
tered the  carriage,  they  seated  themselves  as  far  apart 
as  possible,  the  marquis  detesting  the  lady  and  she  for 
her  part  disliking  him  just  as  cordially. 

Next  day  the  critics  referred  to  the  scene  with  glow- 
ing words,  while  in  the  coffee  houses  they  discussed 
the  proposition :  Should  an  actress  feel  the  emotion 
she  portrays  ?  With  a  cynical  smile  the  marquis  read 
the  different  accounts  of  the  performance,  when  he 
and  his  companion  found  themselves  in  the  old  stage 
coach  en  route  for  Brighton.  He  felt  no  regret  for 
his  action — had  not  the  Prince  of  Wales  taught  the 
gentlemen  of  his  kingdom  that  it  was  fashionable  to 
desert  actresses  ?  Had  he  not  left  the  "divine  Perdita'" 
to  languish,  after  snubbing  her  right  royally  in  Hyde 
Park? 


6  THE    STROLLERS 

Disdainfully  the  lady  in  the  coach  regarded  her  hus- 
band and  it  was  evident  that  the  ties  of  affection  which 
bound  these  two  travelers  together  on  life's  road  were 
neither  strong  nor  enduring.  Yet  they  were  traveling 
together ;  their  way  was  the  same ;  their  destination — 
but  that  belongs  to  the  future.  The  marquis  had  been 
relieved  in  his  mind  after  a  consultation  with  a  dis- 
tinguished barrister,  and,  moreover,  was  pleased  at 
the  prospect  of  leaving  this  island  of  fogs  for  the  sunny 
shores  of  France.  The  times  were  exciting ;  the  coun- 
try, on  the  verge  of  proposed  electoral  reforms.  But 
in  France  the  new  social  system  had  sprung  into  ex- 
istence and — lamentable  fact ! — duty  towards  one's 
country  had  assumed  an  empire  superior  to  ancient 
devotion  toward  kings. 

To  stem  this  tide  and  attach  himself  closely  to  King 
Charles  X  was  the  marquis'  ambitious  purpose.  For 
this  he  had  espoused  a  party  in  marrying  a  relative  of 
the  royal  princess,  thus  enhancing  the  ties  that  bound 
him  to  the  throne,  and  throwing  to  the  winds  his  Per- 
dita  whose  charms  had  once  held  him  in  folly's  chains. 
Did  he  regret  the  step  ?  Has  ravening  aspiration  any 
compunction ;  any  contrite  visitings  of  nature  ?  What 
did  the  player  expect;  that  he  would  violate  preced- 
ence; overthrow  the  fashionable  maxims  of  good 
George  IV ;  become  a  slave  to  a  tragi-comic  performer 
and  cast  his  high  destiny  to  the  winds?  Had  ever  a 
gentleman  entertained  such  a  project?  Vows?  Wit- 
ness the  agreeable  perjuries  of  lovers;  the  pleasing 
pastime  of  fond  hearts !  Every  titled  rascallion  lied 


PROLOGUE  7 

to  his  mistress;  every  noble  blackguard  professed  to 
be  a  Darby  for  constancy  and  was  a  Jonathan  Wild  by 
instinct.  If  her  ideals  were  raised  so  high,  the  worse 
for  her ;  if  a  farce  of  a  ceremony  was  regarded  as  tying 
an  indissoluble  knot — let  her  take  example  by  the  lady 
who  thought  herself  the  king's  spouse;  pish!  there 
are  ceremonies  and  ceremonies,  and  wives  and  wives ; 
those  of  the  hedge-concealed  cottage  and  those  of  pal- 
ace and  chateau ! 

'As  the  coach  sped  over  the  road,  the  lady  by  his 
side  smiled  disagreeably  from  time  to  time,  and  my 
lord,  when  he  became  aware  of  it,  winced  beneath  her 
glance.  Had  she  fathomed  his  secret  ?  Else  why  that 
eminently  superior  air;  that  manner  which  said  as 
plainly  as  spoken  words :  "Now  I  have  learned  what 
to  do  if  he  should  play  the  tyrant.  Now  I  see  a  way 
to  liberty,  equality,  fraternity!"  And  beneath  the 
baneful  gleam  of  that  look  of  enlightenment,  my  lord 
cursed  under  his  breath  roundly.  The  only  impertur- 
bable person  of  the  party  was  Francois,  the  marquis' 
valet,  whose  impassive  countenance  was  that  of  a  stoic, 
apathetic  to  the  foibles  of  his  betters ;  a  philosopher  of 
the  wardrobe,  to  whom  a  wig  awry  or  a  loosened 
buckle  seemed  of  more  moment  than  the  derangement 
of  the  marriage  tie  or  the  disorder  of  conjugal  affec- 
tion. 

Not  long  thereafter  the  player  left  for  America, 
where  she  procured  an  engagement  in  New  York 
City,  and,  so  far  as  London  was  concerned,  she  might 
have  found  rest  and  retiredness  in  the  waters  of  Lethe. 


8  THE   STROLLERS 

Of  her  reception  in  the  old  New  York  Theater;  the 
verdict  of  the  phalanx  of  critics  assembled  in  the 
Shakespeare  box  which,  according  to  tradition,  held 
more  than  two  hundred  souls ;  the  gossip  over  confec- 
tions or  tea  in  the  coffee  room  of  the  theater — it  is 
unnecessary  to  dwell  upon.  But  had  not  the  player 
become  a  voluntary  exile;  had  she  not  foregone  her 
former  life  for  the  new;  Had  she  not  found  that  joy 
sometimes  begets  the  bitterest  grief,  there  would  have 
been  no  occasion  for  this  chronicle. 


BOOK    I 

ON  THE  CIRCUIT  IN  THE 
WILDERNESS 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  TRAVELERS'  FRIEND 

* 

I  It  was  a  drizzly  day  in  the  Shadengo  Valley.     A 

mist  had  settled  down  upon  the  old  inn;  lost  to  view 
was  the  landscape  with  its  varied  foliage.  Only 
the  immediate  foreground  was  visible  to  a  team- 
ster who  came  down  the  road — the  trees  with  dripping 
branches,  and  the  inn  from  the  eaves  of  which  water 
fell  to  the  ground  with  depressing  monotony ;  the  well 
with  its  pail  for  watering  the  horses  and  the  log  trough 
in  whose  limpid  waters  a  number  of  speckled  trout 
were  swimming.  The  driver  drew  up  his  horses  be- 
fore the  Travelers'  Friend — as  the  place  was  named 
— and  called  out  imperatively: 

"Hullo  there !" 

No  one  appearing,  he  leaned  over  and  impatiently 
rapped  on  the  door  with  the  heavy  oak  butt-end  of 
his  whip.  Still  there  was  no  response.  Again  he 
knocked,  this  time  louder  than  before,  and  was  prepar- 
ing for  an  even  more  vigorous  assault  upon  the  unhos- 
pitable  entrance,  when  the  door  swung  back  and  the 
landlord,  a  tall,  gaunt  individual,  confronted  the  driver. 


12  THE   STROLLERS 

"Well,  I  heard  ye,"  he  said  testily.  "Are  ye  com- 
ing in  or  shall  I  bring  it  out?" 

"Bring  it  out,"  was  the  gruff  response  of  the  dis- 
gruntled teamster. 

Shortly  afterwards  mine  host  reappeared  with  a 
tankard  of  generous  dimensions.  The  teamster  raised 
it ;  slowly  drained  it  to  the  bottom ;  dropped  a  coin  into 
the  landlord's  hand ;  cracked  his  whip  in  a  lively  man- 
ner and  moved  on.  The  steam  from  his  horses  min- 
gled with  the  mist  and  he  was  soon  swallowed  up, 
although  the  cheerful  snap  of  his  whip  could  yet  be 
heard.  Then  that  became  inaudible  and  the  boniface 
who  had  stood  for  a  brief  space  in  the  doorway,  empty 
tankard  in  hand,  re-entered  the  house  satisfied  that  no 
more  transient  patronage  would  be  forthcoming  at 
present. 

Going  through  an  outer  room,  called  by  courtesy  a 
parlor,  the  landlord  passed  into  an  apartment  which 
served  as  dining-room,  sitting-room  and  bar.  Here 
the  glow  of  a  wood  fire  from  the  well  swept  hearth 
and  the  aspect  of  the  varied  assortment  of  bottles, 
glasses  and  tankards,  gave  more  proof  of  the  fit- 
ness of  the  appellation  on  the  creaking  sign  of  the 
road-house  than  appeared  from  a  superficial  survey  of 
its  exterior  and  far  from  neat  stable  yard,  or  from  that 
chilly,  forbidding  room,  so  common  especially  in  Amer- 
ican residences  in  those  days,  the  parlor.  Any  doubt 
regarding  the  contents  of  the  hospitable  looking  bot- 
tles was  dispelled  by  such  prominent  inscriptions  in 
gilt  letters  as  "Whisky,"  "Brandy"  and  "Rum."  To 


THE   TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      13 

add  to  the  effect,  between  the  decanters  were  ranged 
glass  jars  of  striped  peppermint  and  winter-green 
candies,  while  a  few  lemons  suggested  pleasing 
possibilities  of  a  hot  sling,  spiced  rum  flip  or  Tom 
and  Jerry.  The  ceiling  of  this  dining-room  was  black- 
ened somewhat  and  the  huge  beams  overhead  gave  an 
idea  of  the  substantial  character  of  the  construction 
of  the  place.  That  fuel  was  plentiful,  appeared  in 
evidence  in  the  open  fireplace  where  were  burning 
two  great  logs,  while  piled  up  against  the  wall  were 
many  other  good-sized  sections  of  hickory. 

Seated  at  a  respectful  distance  from  this  cheerful 
conflagration  was  a  young  man  of  perhaps  five-and- 
twenty,  whose  travel-stained  attire  indicated  he  had 
but  recently  been  on  the  road.  Upon  a  chair  near  by 
were  a  riding-whip  and  hat,  the  latter  spotted  with 
mud  and  testifying  to  the  rough  character  of  the  road 
over  which  he  had  come.  He  held  a  short  pipe  to  his 
lips  and  blew  clouds  of  smoke  toward  the  fire,  while 
upon  a  table,  within  arm's  length,  rested  a  glass  of 
some  hot  mixture.  But  in  spite  of  his  comfortable 
surroundings,  the  expression  of  his  face  was  not  that 
of  a  person  in  harmony  with  the  Johnsonian  conclu- 
sion, "A  chair  in  an  inn  is  a  throne  of  felicity."  His 
countenance,  well  bronzed  as  a  weather-tried  troop- 
er's, was  harsh,  gloomy,  almost  morose;  not  an  un- 
handsome face,  but  set  in  such  a  severe  cast  the  ob- 
server involuntarily  wondered  what  experience  had 
indited  that  scroll.  Tall,  large  of  limb,  muscular,  as 
was  apparent  even  in  a  restful  pose,  he  looked  an 


14  THE    STROLLERS 

athlete  of  the  most  approved  type,  active  and  power- 
ful. 

Mine  host,  having  found  his  guest  taciturn,  had 
himself  become  genial,  and  now  remarked  as  he  en- 
tered: "How  do  you  find  the  punch?  Is  it  to  your 
liking?" 

"Yes,"  shortly  answered  the  stranger,  without  rais- 
ing his  eyes  from  a  moody  regard  of  the  fire. 

"You're  from  France,  I  guess?"  continued  the  land- 
lord, as  he  seated  himself  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
fireplace.  "Been  here  long?  Where  you  going?" 
Without  waiting  for  an  answer  to  his  first  question  he 
exercised  his  time-honored  privilege  of  demanding  any 
and  all  information  from  wayfarers  at  the  Travelers' 
Friend. 

"I  say,  where  you  going?"  he  repeated,  turning  over 
a  log  and  sending  a  shower  of  sparks  up  the  flue. 

With  no  change  of  countenance  the  guest  silently 
reached  for  his  punch,  swallowed  a  portion  of  it,  re- 
placed the  glass  on  the  table  and  resumed  his  smoking 
as  though  oblivious  of  the  other's  presence.  Momen- 
tarily disconcerted,  the  landlord  devoted  himself  once 
more  to  the  fire.  After  readjusting  a  trunk  of  old 
hickory  on  the  great  andirons  and  gazing  absently  for 
a  moment  at  the  huge  crane  supporting  an  iron  kettle 
of  boiling  water,  mine  host  tipped  back  in  his  chair, 
braced  his  feet  against  the  wall,  lighted  a  vile-smelling 
pipe  and  again  returned  valiantly  to  the  attack,  re- 
solved to  learn  more  about  his  guest. 

"I  hear  things  are  kind  of  onsettled  in  France?" 


THE   TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      15 

he  observed  diplomatically,  emitting  a  cloud  of  smoke. 
"I  see  in  a  Syracuse  paper  that  Louis  Philippe  is  no 
longer  king;  that  he  and  the  queen  have  fled  to  En- 
gland. Perhaps,  now," — inwardly  congratulating  him- 
self on  his  shrewdness — "you  left  Paris  for  political 
reasons  ?" 

The  stranger  deliberately  emptied  his  pipe  and  thrust 
it  into  his  pocket,  while  the  landlord  impatiently 
awaited  the  response  to  his  pointed  query.  When  it 
came,  however,  it  was  not  calculated  to  allay  the  curi- 
osity of  his  questioner. 

"Is  it  your  practice,"  said  the  young  man  coldly,  in 
slow  but  excellent  English,  "to  bark  continuously  at 
the  heels  of  your  guests  ?" 

"Oh,  no  offense  meant !  No  offense !  Hope  none'll 
be  taken/'  stammered  the  landlord. 

Then  he  recovered  himself  and  his  dignity  by  draw- 
ing forth  a  huge  wine-colored  silk  handkerchief,  set 
with  white  polka-dots,  and  ostentatiously  and  vigor- 
ously using  it.  This  ear-splitting  operation  having 
once  more  set  him  up  in  his  own  esteem,  he  resumed 
his  attentions  to  the  stranger. 

"I  didn't  know,"  he  added  with  an  outburst  of  hon- 
esty, "but  what  you  might  be  some  nobleman  in  dis- 
guise." 

"A  nobleman !"  said  the  other  with  ill-concealed 
contempt.  "My  name  is  Saint-Prosper;  plain  Ernest 
Saint-Prosper.  I  was  a  soldier.  Now  I'm  an  adven^- 
turer.  There  you  have  it  all  in  a  nut-shell," 


16  THE    STROLLERS 

The  inn-keeper  surveyed  his  guest's  figure  with  un- 
disguised admiration. 

"Well,  you  look  like  a  soldier,"  he  remarked.  "You 
are  like  one  of  those  soldiers  who  came  over  from 
France  to  help  us  in  the  Revolution." 

This  tribute  being  silently  accepted,  the  landlord 
grew  voluble  as  his  guest  continued  reserved. 

"We  have  our  own  troubles  with  lords,  too,  right 
here  in  New  York  State,"  he  said  confidentially.  "We 
have  our  land  barons,  descendants  of  the  patroons  and 
holders  of  thousands  of  acres.  And  we  have  our 
bolters,  too,  who  are  making  a  big  stand  against  feu- 
dalism/' 

Thereupon  he  proceeded  to  present  the  subject  in 
all  its  details  to  the  soldier ;  how  the  tenants  were  pro- 
testing against  the  enforcement  of  what  they  now 
deemed  unjust  claims  and  were  demanding  the  aboli- 
tion of  permanent  leaseholds ;  how  they  openly  resisted 
the  collection  of  rents  and  had  inaugurated  an  aggres- 
sive anti-rent  war  against  tyrannical  landlordism.  His 
lengthy  and  rambling  dissertation  was  finally  broken  in 
upon  by  a  rumbling  on  the  road,  as  of  carriage  wheels 
drawing  near,  and  the  sound  of  voices.  The  noise 
sent  the  boniface  to  the  window,  and,  looking  out,  he 
discovered  a  lumbering  coach,  drawn  by  two  heavy 
horses,  which  came  dashing  up  with  a  great  semblance 
of  animation  for  a  vehicle  of  its  weight,  followed  by 
a  wagon,  loaded  with  diversified  and  gaudy  parapher- 
nalia. 

"Some  troopers,  I  guess,"  commented  the  landlord 


THE    TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      17 

in  a  tone  which  indicated  the  coming  of  these  guests 
was  not  entirely  welcome  to  him.  "Yes,"  he  added, 
discontentedly,  "they're  stage-folk,  sure  enough." 

The  wagon,  which  contained  several  persons,  was 
driven  into  the  stable  yard,  where  it  was  unloaded  of 
"drops"  and  "wings,"  representing  a  street,  a  forest,  a 
prison,  and  so  on,  while  the  stage  coach,  with  a  rattle 
and  a  jerk,  and  a  final  flourish  of  the  driver's  whip, 
stopped  at  the  front  door.  Springing  to  the  ground, 
the  driver  opened  the  door  of  the  vehicle,  and  at  the 
same  time  two  other  men,  with  their  heads  muffled 
against  the  wind  and  rain,  leisurely  descended  from 
the  top.  The  landlord  now  stood  at  the  entrance  of 
the  inn,  a  sour  expression  on  his  face.  Certainly, 
if  the  travelers  had  expected  in  him  the  traditional 
glowing  countenance,  with  the  apostolic  injunction  to 
"use  hospitality  without  grudging"  writ  upon  it,  they 
were  doomed  to  disappointment. 

A  rustle  of  skirts,  and  there  emerged  from  the  in- 
terior of  the  coach,  first,  a  little,  dried-up  old  lady 
whose  feet  were  enclosed  in  prunella  boots,  with 
Indian  embroidered  moccasins  for  outside  protection ; 
second,  a  young  woman  who  hastily  made  her 
way  into  the  hostelry,  displaying  a  trim  pair  of  ankles ; 
third,  a  lady  resembling  the  second  and  who  the 
landlord  afterwards  learned  was  her  sister;  fourth, 
a  graceful  girl  above  medium  height,  wearing  one  of 
those  provoking,  quilted  silk  hoods  of  the  day,  with 
cherry-colored*  lining,  known  as  "Kiss-me-if-you- 
dare"  hoods. 


i8  THE    STROLLERS 

Then  followed  a  dark  melancholy  individual,  the 
utility  man,  whose  waistcoat  of  figured  worsted  was 
much  frayed  and  whose  "tooth-pick"  collar  was  the 
worse  for  the  journey.  He  preceded  a  more  natty 
person  in  a  bottle-green,  "shad-belly"  coat,  who  strove 
to  carry  himself  as  though  he  were  fashionably  dressed, 
instead  of  wearing  clothes  which  no  longer  could  con- 
ceal their  shabbiness.  The  driver,  called  in  theatrical 
parlance  "the  old  man,"  was  a  portly  personage  in  a 
blue  coat  with  velvet  collar  and  gilt  buttons,  a  few  of 
which  were  missing;  while  the  ruffles  of  his  shirt 
were  in  sad  plight,  for  instead  of  protruding  elegantly 
a  good  three  or  even  four  inches,  their  glory  had  gone 
and  they  lay  ignominiously  flattened  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  wearer.  A  white  choker  rivaled  in  hue  the 
tooth-pick  collar  of  the  melancholy  individual. 

The  tavern's  stable  boy  immediately  began  to  remove 
the  trunks  into  the  main  hallway.  This  overgrown, 
husky  lad  evidently  did  not  share  his  employer's  dis- 
approval of  the  guests,  for.  he  gazed  in  open-eyed 
wonder  at  the  sisters,  and  then,  with  increasing  awe, 
his  glance  strayed  to  the  young  girl.  To  his  juvenile 
imagination  an  actress  appeared  in  the  glamour  of  a 
veritable  goddess.  But  she  had  obviously  that  tender 
consideration  for  others  which  belongs  to  humanity, 
for  she  turned  to  the  old  man  with  an  affectionate 
smile,  removing  from  his  shoulders  the  wet  Petersham 
overcoat,  and,  placing  it  on  a  chair,  regarded  him  with 
a  look  of  filial  anxiety.  Yet  their  appearance  belied 
the  assumption  of  such  relationship ;  he  was  hearty, 


THE   TRAVELERS'   FRIEND      19 

florid  and  sturdy,  of  English  type,  while  she  seemed  a 
daughter  of  the  South,  a  figure  more  fitting  for  groves 
of  orange  and  cypress,  than  for  this  rugged  northern 
wilderness. 

The  emotion  of  the  stable  boy  as  he  gazed  at  her,  and 
the  forbidding  mood  of  the  landlord  were  broken  in 
upon  by  the  tiny  old  lady,  who,  in  a  large  voice,  re- 
marked : 

,"A  haven  at  last !     Are  you  the  landlord  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  testily  replied  that  person. 

"I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  mel- 
ancholy individual,  as  he  extended  a  hand  so  cold  and 
clammy  that  shivers  ran  up  and  down  the  back  of  the 
host  when  he  took  it  gingerly.  "We  are  having  fine 
tragedy  weather,  sir !" 

"A  fire  at  once,  landlord!"  commanded  the  would- 
be  beau. 

"Refreshments  will  be  in  order!"  exclaimed  she  of 
the  trim  ankles. 

"And  show  me  the  best  room  in  the  house,"  re- 
marked her  sister. 

Mine  host,  bewildered  by  this  shower  of  requests, 
stared  from  one  to  the  other  in  helpless  confusion,  but 
finally  collected  his  wits  sufficiently  to  usher  the  com- 
pany into  the  tap-room  with : 

"Here  you'll  find  a  fire,  but  as  for  the  best  room, 
this  gentleman" — indicating  the  reticent  guest — "al- 
ready occupies  it." 

The  young  man  at  the  fire,  thus  forced  prominently 
into  notice,  arose  slowly. 


20  THE    STROLLERS 

"You  are  mistaken,  landlord,"  he  said  curtly,  hardly 
glancing  at  the  players.  "I  no  longer  occupy  it  since 
these  ladies  have  come." 

"Your  complaisance  does  credit  to  your  good  nature, 
sir,"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "But  we  can  not  take 
advantage  of  it." 

"It  is  too  good  of  you,"  remarked  the  elder  sister 
with  a  glance  replete  with  more  gratitude  than  the  oc- 
casion demanded.  "Really,  though,  we  could  not  think 
of  it." 

"Thank  you;  thank  you,"  joined  in  the  wiry  old 
lady,  bobbing  up  and  down  like  a  miniature  figure 
moved  by  the  unseen  hand  of  the  showman.  "Allow 
me,  sir !"  And  she  gravely  tendered  him  a  huge 
snuff-box  of  tortoise  shell,  which  he  declined ;  where- 
upon she  continued: 

"You  do  not  use  it?  New  fashions;  new  habits! 
Though  whether  for  the  better  is  not  for  me  to  say." 

She  helped  herself  to  a  liberal  portion  and  passed 
the  box  to  the  portly  old  gentleman.  Here  the  land- 
lord, in  a  surly  tone,  told  the  stable  boy  to  remove  the 
gentleman's  things  and  show  the  ladies  to  their  rooms. 
Before  going,  the  girl  in  the  provoking  hood — now 
unfastened,  and  freeing  sundry  rebellious  brown  curls 
where  the  moisture  yet  sparkled  like  dew — turned  to 
the  old  man : 

"You  are  coming  up  directly?  Your  stock  wants 
changing,  while  your  ruffles" — laughing — "are  dis- 
graceful !" 

"Presently,  my  dear;  presently!"  he  returned. 


THE   TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      21 

The  members  of  the  company  mounted  the  broad 
stairway,  save  the  driver  of  the  coach — he  of  the  dis- 
ordered ruffles — who  wiped  his  heavy  boots  on  a  door 
mat  and  made  his  way  to  the  fire,  where  he  stood  in 
English  fashion  with  his  coat-tails  under  his  arms, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  drying  himself  before  the 
flames. 

"A  disagreeable  time  of  year,  sir,"  he  observed  to 
the  soldier,  who  had  returned  to  his  seat  before  the 
table.  "Twice  on  the  road  we  nearly  broke  down,  and 
once  the  wagon  dumped  our  properties  in  the  ditch. 
Meanwhile,  to  make  matters  worse,  the  ladies  heaped 
reproaches  upon  these  gray  hairs.  This,  sir,  to  the 
man  who  was  considered  one  of  the  best  whips  in  old 
Devonshire  county." 

The  other  did  not  answer  immediately,  but  regarded 
the  speaker  with  the  look  of  one  not  readily  disposed 
to  make  acquaintances.  His  conclusions  were  appar- 
ently satisfactory,  however,  for  he  presently  vouch- 
safed the  remark : 

"You  are  the  manager,  I  presume  ?" 

"I  enjoy  that  honor,"  returned  the  loquacious 
stranger.  "But  my  duties  are  manifold.  As  driver 
of  the  chariot,  I  endure  the  constant  apprehension  of 
wrecking  my  company  by  the  wayside.  As  assistant 
carpenter,  when  we  can  not  find  a  stage  it  is  my  task 
to  erect  one.  As  bill-poster  and  license-procurer, 
treasurer  and  stage  manager,  my  time  is  not  so  taken 
up,  sir,  as  to  preclude  my  going  on  and  assuming  a 
character." 


22  THE    STROLLERS 

"A  life  of  variety,"  observed  the  young  man,  politely 
if  indifferently. 

"Yes;  full  of  ups  and  downs,  as  the  driver  of  the 
property  wagon  said  when  we  entered  this  hilly  dis- 
trict," replied  the  manager,  with  the  contentment  of  a 
man  who  has  found  a  snug  haven  after  a  hard  ride  in 
a.  comparatively  unbroken  country.  "Affluence  we 
may  know,  but  poverty  is  apt  to  be  our  companion." 

To  this  the  other  deemed  no  response  necessary  and 
a  silence  fell  between  them,  broken  only  by  the  simmer- 
ing water  in  the  iron  kettle,  the  sputtering  of  the 
sap  in  the  burning  logs  and  the  creaking  without 
of  the  long  balancing  pole  that  suspended  the  moss- 
covered  bucket.  The  wind  sighed  in  the  chimney 
and  the  wooing  flames  sprang  to  meet  it,  while  the 
heart  of  the  fire  glowed  in  a  mass  of  coals  between 
the  andirons. 

The  old  gentleman  before  the  blaze  began  to  outrival 
the  kettle  in  steaming;  from  his  coat-tails  a  thin  veil 
of  mist  ascended,  his  face  beaming  through  the  va- 
por with  benign  felicity.  Then  he  turned  and  toasted 
the  other  side  and  the  kettle  reigned  supreme  until  he 
thawed  once  more  and  the  clouds  ascended,  surround- 
ing him  like  Jupiter  on  the  celestial  mount.  At  that 
the  kettle  hummed  more  angrily  and  the  old  gentle- 
man's face  beamed  with  satisfaction. 

"A  snug  company,  sir,"  he  said,  finally,  glowing 
upon  the  impassive  face  before  him,  "like  a  tight  ship, 
can  weather  a  little  bad  weather.  Perhaps  you  noticed 
our  troupe?  The  old  lady  is  Mrs.  Adams.  She  is 


THE   TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      23 

nearly  seventy,  but  can  dance  a  horn-pipe  or  a  reel  with 
the  best  of  them.  The  two  sisters  are  Kate  and  Susan 
Duran,  both  coquettes  of  the  first  water.  Our  juve- 
nile man  is  a  young  Irishman  who  thinks  much  of  his 
dress  and  little  of  the  cultivation  of  mind  and  man- 
ners. Then,"  added  the  old  man  tenderly,  "there  is 
my  Constance." 

He  paused  abruptly.  "Landlord,  a  pot  of  ale.  My 
throat  is  hoarse  from  the  mist.  Fancy  being  for  hours 
on  a  road  not  knowing  where  you  are !  Your  good- 
fortune,  sir!"  Lifting  the  mug.  "More  than  once 
we  lurched  like  a  cockle-shell." 

The  conversation  at  this  point  was  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  the  juvenile  man. 

"Mr.  Barnes,  the  ladies  desire  your  company  im- 
mediately." 

The  manager  hurriedly  left  the  room  and  the  new- 
comer regarded  his  retiring  figure  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye.  Then  he  took  a  turn  around  the  room  in 
stilted  fashion — like  one  who  "carried  about  with  him 
his  pits,  boxes  and  galleries" — and  observed : 

"Faith,  Mr.  Barnes'  couch  is  not  a  bed  of  roses. 
It  is  better  to  have  the  fair  ones  dangling, after  you, 
than  to  be  running  at  their  every  beck  and  call." 

Here  he  twisted  his  mustache  upward. 

"A  woman  is  a  strange  creature,"  he  resumed.  "If 
she  calls  and  you  come  once,  your  legs  will  be  busy  for 
the  rest  of  your  natural  days." 

He  seemed  about  to  continue  his  observations  along 
this  philosophical  line,  when  the  manager  appeared  in 


24  THE    STROLLERS 

much  perturbation,  approaching  the  landlord,  who,  at 
the  same  time,  had  entered  the  room  from  the  kitchen. 

"The  ladies  insist  that  their  sheets  are  damp,"  began 
the  manager  in  his  most  plausible  manner. 

A  dangerous  light  appeared  in  the  other's  eyes. 

"It's  the  weather,  you  understand.  Not  your  fault ; 
bless  you,  no !" 

The  landlord's  face  became  a  shade  less  acrimo- 
nious. 

"Now,  if  there  was  a  fire  in  the  room — it  is  sucH  a 
comfortable,  cheery  room — " 

"Sandy!"  interrupted  the  host,  calling  to  the  long- 
armed,  red-handed  stable  boy,  who  thrust  a  shock  of 
hair  through  the  kitchen  door.  "Build  a  fire  up- 
stairs." 

Mr.  Barnes  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  drawing  a 
chair  to  the  blaze  prepared  once  more  to  enjoy  a  well- 
earned  rest. 

By  this  time  the  shadows  had  begun  to  lengthen  in 
the  room  as  the  first  traces  of  early  twilight  filled  the 
valley.  The  gurgling  still  continued  down  the  water 
pipe;  the  old  sign  before  the  front  door  moaned  mo- 
notonously. An  occasional  gust  of  wind,  which  mys- 
teriously penetrated  the  mist  without  sweeping  it  aside, 
rattled  the  windows  and  waved  wildly  in  mid-air  a 
venturesome  rose  which  had  clambered  to  the  second 
story  of  the  old  inn.  The  barn-yard  appeared  even 
more  dismal  because  of  the  coming  darkness  and  the 
hens  presented  a  pathetic  picture  of  discomfort  as 
they  tucked  their  heads  under  their  wet  feathers  for 


THE    TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      25 

the  night,  while  his  lordship,  the  rooster,  was  but  a 
sorry  figure  upon  his  high  perch,  with  the  moisture 
regularly  and  unceasingly  dripping  through  the  roof 
of  the  hen-house  upon  his  unprotected  back. 

An  aroma  from  the  kitchen  which  penetrated  the 
room  seemed  especially  grateful  to  the  manager  who 
smiled  with  satisfaction  as  he  conjured  up  visions  of 
the  forthcoming  repast.  By  his  Falstaffian  girth,  he 
appeared  a  man  not  averse  to  good  living,  nor  one  to 
deny  himself  plentiful  libations  of  American  home- 
brewed ale. 

"Next  to  actual  dining,"  observed  this  past-master 
in  the  art,  "are  the  anticipations  of  the  table.  The 
pleasure  consists  in  speculation  regarding  this  or  that 
aroma,  in  classifying  the  viands  and  separating  this 
combination  of  culinary  odors  into  courses  of  which 
you  will  in  due  time  partake.  Alas  for  the  poor 
stroller  when  the  tavern  ceases  to  be !  Already  it  is 
almost  extinct  on  account  of  the  Erie  Canal.  Only  a 
short  time  ago  this  room  would  have  been  crowded 
with  teamsters  of  the  broad-tired  Pennsylvania  wagons, 
drawn  by  six  or  eight  horses." 

Again  the  appetizing  aroma  from  the  kitchen  turned 
the  current  of  his  reflections  into  its  original  channel, 
for  he  concluded  with:  "An  excellent  dinner  is  in 
progress,  if  my  diagnosis  of  these  penetrating  fra- 
grances be  correct." 

And  it  was  soon  demonstrated  that  the  manager's 
discernment  was  not  in  error.  There  was  not  only 
abundance  but  quality,  and  the  landlord's  daughter 


26  THE    STROLLERS 

waited  on  the  guests,  thereby  subjecting  herself  to 
the  very  open  advances  of  the  Celtic  Adonis.  The 
large  table  was  laden  with  heavy  crockery,  old- 
fashioned  and  quaint;  an  enormous  rotary  castor  oc- 
cupied the  center  of  the  table,  while  the  forks  and 
spoons  were — an  unusual  circumstance ! — of  silver. 

When  the  company  had  seated  themselves  around  the 
board  the  waitress  brought  in  a  sucking  pig,  done  to 
a  turn,  well  stuffed,  and  with  an  apple  in  its  mouth. 
The  manager  heaved  a  sigh. 

"The  lovely  little  monster,"  said  Kate,  admiringly. 

"Monster!"  cried  Susan.    "Say  cherub!" 

"So  young  and  tender  for  such  a  fate!"  exclaimed 
Hawkes,  the  melancholy  individual,  with  knife  and 
fork  held  in  mid-air. 

"But  worthy  of  the  bearer  of  the  dish !"  remarked 
Adonis,  so  pointedly  that  the  landlord's  daughter, 
overwhelmed  with  confusion,  nearly  dropped  the  plat- 
ter, miniature  porker  and  all.  Whereupon  Kate  cast 
an  angry  glance  at  the  offender  whom  "she  could  not 
abide,"  yet  regarded  in  a  certain  proprietary  way, 
and  Adonis  henceforth  became  less  open  in  his  ad- 
vances. 

Those  other  aromas  which  the  manager  had  mentally 
classified  took  form  and  substance  and  were  arranged 
in  tempting  variety  around  .the  appetizing  and  well- 
browned  suckling.  There  were  boiled  and  baked 
hams,  speckled  with  cloves,  plates  of  doughnuts  and 
pound  cake,  beet  root  and  apple  sauce.  Before  each 


THE   TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      27 

of  the  guests  stood  a  foaming  mug  of  home-brewed 
ale  that  carried  with  it  a  palpable  taste  of  the  hops. 

"There  is  nothing  of  the  stage  repast  about  this," 
commented  the  manager. 

To  which  Kate,  having  often  partaken  of  the  con- 
ventional banquet  of  the  theater,  waved  her  hand  in 
a  serio-comic  manner  toward  the  piece  de  resistance 
and  observed : 

.."Suppose,  now,  by  some  necromancy  our  young  and 
tender  friend  here  on  the  platter  should  be  changed 
to  a  cleverly  fashioned  block  of  wood,  painted  in  imi- 
tation of  a  roasted  porker,  with  a  wooden  apple  in 
his  mouth?" 

The  manager,  poising  the  carving  knife,  replied: 

"Your  suggestion  is  startling.  We  will  obviate  the 
possibility  of  any  such  transformation." 

And  he  cut  the  "ambrosian  fat  and  lean"  with  a  firm 
hand,  eying  the  suckling  steadfastly  the  while  as  if 
to  preclude  any  exhibition  of  Hindoo  mysticism,  while 
the  buxom  lass,  the  daughter  of  the  boniface,  with 
round  arms  bared,  bore  sundry  other  dishes  from 
place  to  place  until  the  plates  were  heaped  with  an 
assortment  of  viands. 

"Well,  my  dear,  how  are  you  getting  on?"  said  the 
manager  to  the  young  actress,  Constance,  as  he  helped 
himself  to  the  crackle.  "Have  you  everything  you 
want  ?" 

She  nodded  brightly,  and  the  stranger  who  was  seat- 
ed some  distance  from  her  glanced  up;  his  gaze 


28  THE   STROLLERS 

rested  on  her  for  a  moment  and  then  returned  in  cold 
contemplation  to  the  fare  set  before  him. 

Yet  was  she  worthy  of  more  than  passing  scrutiny. 
The  gleam  of  the  lamp  fell  upon  her  well-turned  figure 
and  the  glistening  of  her  eyes  could  be  seen  in  the 
shadow  that  rested  on  her  brow  beneath  the  crown  of 
hair.  She  wore  a  dark  lavender  dress,  striped  with 
silk,  a  small  "jacquette,"  after  the  style  of  the  day, 
the  sleeves  being  finished  with  lace  and  the  skirt  full 
and  flowing.  Her  heavy  brown  tresses  were  arranged 
in  a  coiffure  in  the  fashion  then  prevailing,  a  portion 
of  the  hair  falling  in  curls  on  the  neck,  the  remainder 
brought  forward  in  plaits  and  fastened  at  the  top  of 
the  forehead  with  a  simple  pearl  ornament. 

If  the  young  girl  felt  any  interest  in  the  presence  of 
the  taciturn  guest  she  concealed  it,  scarcely  looking 
at  him  and  joining  but  rarely  in  the  conversation. 
Susan,  on  the  other  hand,  resorted  to  sundry  coquet- 
ries. 

"I  fear,  sir,  that  you  find  our  poor  company  intru- 
sive, since  we  have  forced  you  to  become  one  of  us?" 
she  said,  toying  with  her  fork,  and  thereby  displaying 
a  white  and  shapely  hand. 

His  impassive  blue  eyes  met  her  sparkling  ones. 

"I  am  honored  in  being  admitted  to  your  fellow- 
ship," he  returned  perfunctorily. 

"Only  poor  players,  sir !"  exclaimed  Hawkes  depre- 
catingly,  with  the  regal  gesture  a  stage  monarch  might 
use  in  setting  forth  the  perplexities  of  royal  pre-emi- 
nence. 


THE    TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      29 

"The  landlord  does  not  seem  to  share  your  opinion  ?" 
continued  Susan,  looking  once  more  at  the  stranger. 

"As  a  host  he  believes  in  brave  deeds,  not  fair 
words,"  said  Kate,  indicating  the  remains  of  the  re- 
past. 

"Peace  to  his  bones !"  exclaimed  the  manager,  ex- 
tending a  hand  over  the  remnants  of  the  suckling. 

Here  the  dark-haired  girl  arose,  the  dinner  being 
concluded.  There  was  none  of  his  usual  brusqueness 
of  manner,  as  the  manager,  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  taking  her  hand,  said : 

"You  are  going  to  retire,  my  dear?  That  is  right. 
We  have  had  a  hard  day's  traveling." 

She  bent  her  head,  and  her  lips  pressed  softly  the 
old  man's  cheek,  after  which  she  turned  from  the  rest 
of  the  company  with  a  grave  bow.  But  as  she  passed 
through  the  doorway  her  flowing  gown  caught  upon 
a  nail  in  the  wall.  Pre-occupied  though  he  seemed, 
her  low  exclamation  did  not  escape  the  ear  of  the 
stranger,  and,  quitting  his  place,  he  knelt  at  her  feet, 
and  she,  with  half  turned  head  and  figure  gracefully 
poised,  looked  down  upon  him. 

With  awkward  fingers,  he  released  the  dress,  and 
she  bowed  her  acknowledgment,  which  he  returned 
with  formal  deference.  Then  she  passed  on  and  he 
raised  his  head,  his  glance  following  her  through  the 
bleak-looking  hall,  up  the  broad,  ill-lighted  staircase, 
into  the  mysterious  shadows  which  prevailed  above. 

Shortly  afterward  the  tired  company  dispersed,  and 
the  soldier  also  sought  his  room.  There  he  found 


30  THE    STROLLERS 

the  landlord's  daughter  before  him  with  the  warming- 
pan.  She  had  spread  open  the  sheets  of  his  bed  and 
was  applying  the  old-fashioned  contrivance  for  the 
prevention  of  rheumatism,  but  it  was  evident  her  mind 
was  not  on  this  commendable  housewifely  task,  for 
she  sighed  softly  and  then  observed : 

"It  must  be  lovely  to  be  an  actress !" 

Dreamily  she  patted  the  pillows,  until  they  were 
round  and  smooth,  and  absently  adjusted  the  bed, 
until  there  was  not  a  wrinkle  in  the  snow-white  coun- 
terpane, after  which,  like  a  good  private  in  domestic 
service,  she  shouldered  the  warming  pan  with  its  long 
handle,  murmured  "good-night"  and  departed,  not  to 
dream  of  milking,  churning  or  cheese-making,  but  of 
a  balcony  and  of  taking  poison  in  a  tomb. 

Absently  the  stranger  gazed  at  the  books  on  the 
table:  "Nutting's  Grammar/'  "Adams'  Arithmetic," 
"David's  Tears"  and  the  "New  England  Primer  and 
Catechism" — all  useful  books  undoubtedly,  but  not 
calculated  long  to  engross  the  attention  of  the  traveler. 
Turning  from  these  prosaic  volumes,  the  occupant  of 
the  chamber  drew  aside  the  curtain  of  the  window 
and  looked  out. 

Now  the  mists  were  swept  away;  the  stars  were 
shining  and  the  gurgling  had  grown  fainter  in  the 
pipes  that  descended  from  the  roof  to  the  ground. 
Not  far  was  the  dark  fringe  which  marked  the  forest 
and  the  liquid  note  of  a  whippoorwill  arose  out  of  the 
solitary  depths,  a  melancholy  tone  in  the  stillness  of 
the  night.  The  little  owl,  too,  was  heard,  his  note 


THE    TRAVELERS'    FRIEND      31 

now  sounding  like  the  filing"  of  a  saw  and  again  chang- 
ing in  character  to  the  tinkling  of  a  bell.  A  dog 
howled  for  a  moment  in  the  barn-yard,  and  then,  ap- 
parently satisfied  with  having  given  this  evidence  of 
watchfulness,  re-entered  his  house  of  one  room  and 
curled  himself  upon  the  straw  in  his  parlor,  after  which 
nothing  more  was  heard  from  him. 

Drawing  the  curtains  of  his  own  couch,  a  large,  four- 
ppsted  affair,  sleep  soon  overpowered  the  stranger; 
but  sleep,  broken  and  fitful!  Nor  did  he  dream  only 
of  France  and  of  kings  running  away,  of  American 
land  barons  and  of  "bolters."  More  intrusive  than 
these,  the  faces  of  the  strollers  crept  in  and  dis- 
turbed his  slumbers,  not  least  among  which  were 
the  features  of  the  dark-eyed  girl  whose  gown  had 
caught  as  she  passed  through  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER    II 

A    NEW    ARRIVAL 

The  crowing  of  the  cock  awakened  the  French  trav- 
eler, and,  going  to  the  window,  he  saw  that  daylight 
had  thrown  its  first  shafts  upon  the  unromantic  barn- 
yard scene,  while  in  the  east  above  the  hill-tops  spread 
the  early  flush  of  morning.  The  watch-dog  had  left 
his  one-roomed  cottage  and  was  promenading  before  it 
in  stately  fashion  with  all  the  pomp  of  a  satisfied 
land-holder,  his  great  undershot  jaw  and  the  extraor- 
dinary outward  curve  of  his  legs  proclaiming  an 
untarnished  pedigree.  The  hens  were  happily  en- 
gaged in  scratching  the  earth  for  their  breakfast ;  the 
rooster,  no  longer  crestfallen,  was  strutting  in  the 
sunshine,  while  next  to  the  barn  several  grunting, 
squealing  pigs  struggled  for  supremacy  in  the  trough. 
From  the  cow-shed  came  an  occasional  low  and  soon  a 
slip-shod  maid,  yawning  mightily,  appeared,  pail  in 
hand,  and  moved  across  the  yard  to  her  early  morning 
task. 

Descending  the  stairs  and  making  his  way  to  the 
barn,  the  soldier  called  to  Sandy,  the  stable  boy,  who 

(32) 


ANEWARRIVAL  33 

was  performing  his  ablutions  by  passing  wet  fingers 
through  a  shock  of  red  hair,  to  saddle  his  horse.  The 
sleepy  lad  led  forth  a  large  but  shapely  animal,  and 
soon  the  stranger  was  galloping  across  the  Country, 
away  from  the  village,  now  down  a  gentle  declivity, 
with  the  virgin  forest  on  either  side,  then  through  a 
tract  of  land  where  was  apparent  the  husbandry  of 
the  people. 

,  After  a  brisk  pace  for  some  miles,  he  reined  in 
his  horse,  and,  leisurely  riding  in  a  circuit,  returned 
on  the  road  that  crossed  the  farming  country  back  of 
the  tavern.  Around  him  lay  fields  of  rye  and  buck- 
wheat sweet  with  the  odor  of  the  bee-hive  ;  Indian  corn, 
whose  silken  tassels  waved  as  high  as  those  of  Fred- 
erick's grenadiers',  and  yellow  pumpkins  nestling  to 
the  ground  like  gluttons  that  had  partaken  too  abun- 
dantly of  mother  earth's  nourishment.  Intermingling 
with  these  great  oblong  and  ovoid  gourds,  squashes, 
shaped  like  turbans  and  many-cornered  hats,  appeared 
in  fantastic  profusion. 

The  rider  was  rapidly  approaching  the  inn,  when  a 
sudden  turn  in  the  highway,  as  the  road  swept  around 
a  wind-break  of  willows,  brought  him  upon  a  young 
woman  who  was  walking  slowly  in  the  same  direction. 
So  fast  was  the  pace  of  his  horse,  and  so  unexpected 
the  meeting,  she  was  almost  under  the  trampling  feet 
before  he  saw  her.  Taken  by  surprise,  she  stood  as  if 
transfixed,  when,  with  a  quick,  decisive  effort,  the 
rider  swerved  his  animal,  and,  of  necessity,  rode  full 
tilt  at  the  fence  and  willows.  She  felt  the  rush  of 


34  THE    STROLLERS 

air ;  saw  the  powerful  animal  lift  itself,  clear  the  rail- 
fence  and  crash  through  the  bulwark  of  branches.  She 
gazed  at  the  wind-break;  a  little  to  the  right,  or  the 
left,  where  the  heavy  boughs  were  thickly  interlaced, 
and  the  rider's  expedient  had  proved  serious  for  him- 
self, but  chance — he  had  no  time  for  choice — had  di- 
rected him  to  a  vulnerable  point  of  leaves  and  twigs. 
Before  she  had  fairly  recovered  herself  he  reappeared 
at  an  opening  on  the  other  side  of  the  willow-screen, 
and,  after  removing  a  number  of  rails,  led  his  horse 
back  to  the  road. 

With  quivering  nostrils,  the  animal  appeared  pos- 
sessed of  unquenchable  spirit,  but  his  master's  bearing 
was  less  assured  as  he  approached,  with  an  expression 
of  mingled  anxiety  and  concern  on  his  face,  the  young 
girl  whom  the  manager  had  addressed  as  Constance. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  having  alarmed  you !"  he 
said.  "It  was  careless,  inexcusable !" 

"It  was  a  little  startling,"  she  admitted,  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"Only  a  little !"  he  broke  in  gravely.  "If  I  had  not 
seen  you  just  when  I  did — " 

"You  would  not  have  turned  your  horse — at  such 
a  risk  to  yourself !"  she  added. 

"Risk  to  myself !  From  what  ?"  A  whimsical  light 
encroached  on  the  set  look  in  his  blue  eyes.  "Jump- 
ing a  rail  fence  ?  But  you  have  not  yet  said  you  have 
pardoned  me?" 

The  smile  brightened.  "Oh,  I  think  you  deserve 
that." 


A    NEW   ARRIVAL  35 

"I  am  not  so  sure,','  he  returned,  glancing  down  at 
her. 

Slanting  between  the  lower  branches  of  the  trees 
the  sunshine  touched  the  young  girl's  hair  in  flickering 
spots  and  crept  down  her  dress  like  caressing  hands 
of  light,  until  her  figure,  passing  into  a  solid  shadow, 
left  these  glimmerings  prone  upon  the  dusty  road 
behind  her.  The  "brides,"  or  strings  of  her  little 
muslin  cap,  flaunted  in  the  breeze  and  a  shawl  of  China 
crape  fluttered  from  her  shoulders.  So  much  of  her 
dusky  hair  as  defied  concealment  contrasted  strongly 
with  the  calm  translucent  pallor  of  her  face.  The 
eyes,  alone,  belittled  the  tranquillity  of  countenance; 
against  the  rare  repose  of  features,  they  were  the 
more  eloquent,  shining  beneath  brows,  delicately 
defined  but  strongly  marked,  and  shaded  by  long  up- 
turned lashes,  deep  in  tone  as  a  sloe. 

"You  are  an  early  riser,"  he  resumed. 

"Not  always,"  she  replied.  "But  after  yesterday  it 
seemed  so  bright  outdoors  and  the  country  so  lovely !" 

His  gaze,  following  hers,  traversed  one  of  the  hol- 
lows. Below  yet  rested  deep  shadows,  but  upon  the 
hillside  a  glory  celestial  enlivened  and  animated  the 
surrounding  scene.  Scattered  houses,  constituting  the 
little  hamlet,  lay  in  the  partial  shade  of  the  swelling 
land,  the  smoke,  with  its  odor  of  burning  pine,  rising 
lazily  on  the  languid  air.  In  the  neighboring  field  a 
farm  hand  was  breaking  up  the  ground  with  an  old- 
fashioned,  pug-nosed  "dirt-rooter;"  soil  as  rich  as 
that  of  Egypt,  or  the  land,  Gerar,  where  Isaac  reaped 


36  THE    STROLLERS 

an  hundred  fold  and  every  Israelite  sat  under  the 
shadow  of  his  own  vine. 

Pausing,  the  husbandman  leaned  on  the  handle  of 
his  plow  and  deliberately  surveyed  the  couple  on 
the  road.  'Having  at  the  same  time  satisfied  his 
curiosity  and  rested  his  arms,  he  grasped  the  handles 
once  more  and  the  horses  pulled  and  tugged  at  the 
primitive  implement.  . 

While  the  soldier  and  the  young  girl  were  thus 
occupied  in  surveying  the  valley  and  the  adjacent 
mounds  and  hummocks,  the  horse,  considering  doubt- 
lessly that  there  had  been  enough  inaction,  tapped  the 
ground  with  rebellious  energy  and  tossed  his  head 
in  mutiny  against  such  procrastination. 

"Your  horse  wants  to  go  on,"  she  said,  observing 
this  equine  by-play. 

"He  usually  does,"  replied  the  rider.  "Perhaps, 
though,  I  am  interrupting  you  ?  I  see  you  have  a  play 
in  your  hand." 

"I  was  looking  over  a  part — but  I  know  it  very 
well,"  she  added,  moving  slowly  from  the  border  of 
willows.  Leading  his  horse,  he  followed. 

His  features,  stern  and  obdurate  in  repose,  relaxed 
in  severity,  while  the  deep-set  blue  eyes  grew  less 
searching  and  guarded.  This  alleviation  became  him 
well,  a  tide  of  youth  softening  his  expression  as  a  wave 
smoothes  the  sands. 

"What  is  the  part?" 

"Juliana,  in  'The  Honeymoon' !  It  is  one  of  our 
stock  pieces." 


ANEWARRIVAL  37 

"And  you  like  it?" 

"Oh,  yes."  Lingering  where  a  bit  of  sward  was  set 
with  field  flowers. 

"And  who  plays  the  duke?"  he  continued. 

"Mr.  O'Flariaty,"  she  answered,  a  suggestion  of 
amusement  in  her  glance.  Beneath  the  shading  of 
straight,  black  brows,  her  eyes  were  deceptively  dark, 
until  scrutinized  closely,  they  resolved  themselves  into 
a^  clear  gray. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  recalling  Adonis  ,  O'Flariaty's,  ap- 
pearance, and,  as  he  spoke,  a  smile  of  singular  sweet- 
ness lightened  his  face.  "A  Spanish  grandee  with 
a  touch  of  the  brogue !  But  I  must  not  decry  your  no- 
ble lord !"  he  added. 

"No  lord  of  mine!"  she  replied  gaily.  "My  lord 
must  have  a  velvet  robe,  not  frayed,  and  a  sword  not 
tin,  and  its  most  sanguinary  purpose  must  not  be  to 
get  between  his  legs  and  trip  him  up!  Of  course, 
when  we  act  in  barns — " 

"In  barns!" 

"Oh,  yes,  when  we  can  find  them  to  act  in !" 

She  glanced  at  him  half -mockingly. 

"I  suppose  you  think  of  a  barn  as  only  a  place  for  a 
horse." 

The  sound  of  carriage  wheels  interrupted  his  re- 
ply, and,  looking  in  the  direction  from  whence 
it  came,  they  observed  a  coach  doubling  the  curve 
before  the  willows  and  approaching  at  a  rapid  pace. 
It  was  a  handsome  and  imposing  equipage,  with  dark 


38  THE    STROLLERS 

crimson  body  and  wheels,  preserving  much  of  the 
grace  of  ancient  outline  with  the  utility  of  modern 
springs. 

As  they  drew  aside  to  permit  it  to  pass  the  features 
of  its  occupant  were  seen,  who,  perceiving  the  young 
girl  on  the  road — the  shawl,  half-fallen  from  her  shoul- 
der revealing  the  plastic  grace  of  an  erect  figure — 
gazed  at  her  with  surprise,  then  thrust  his  head  from 
the  window  and  bowed  with  smiling,  if  somewhat 
exaggerated,  politeness.  The  next  moment  carriage 
and  traveler  vanished  down  the  road  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  but  an  alert  observer  might  have  noticed  an  eye 
at  the  rear  port-hole,  as  though  the  person  within  was 
supplementing  his  brief  observation  from  the  side 
with  a  longer,  if  diminishing,  view  from  behind. 

The  countenance  of  the  young  girl's  companion 
retrograded  from  its  new-found  favor  to  a  more  inex- 
orable cast. 

"A  friend  of  yours  ?"  he  said,  briefly. 

"I  never  saw  him  before,"  she  answered  with  flash- 
ing eyes.  "Perhaps  he  is  the  lord  of  the  manor  and 
thought  I  was  one  of  his  subjects." 

"There  are  lords  in  this  country,  then?" 

"Lords  or  patroons,  they  are  called,"  she  replied,  her 
face  still  flushed. 

At  this  moment,  across  the  meadows,  beyond  the 
fence  of  stumps — poor  remains  of  primeval  monarchs ! 
— a  woman  appeared  at  the  back  door  of  the  inn  with 
a  tin  horn  upon  which  she  blew  vigorously,  the  harsh 
blasts  echoing  over  hill  and  valley.  The  startled  swal- 


ANEWARRIVAL  39 

lows  and  martins  arose  from  the  eaves  and  fluttered 
above  the  roof.  The  farm  hand  at  the  plow  released 
the  handle,  and  the  slip-shod  maid  appeared  in  the 
door  of  the  cow-shed,  spry  and  nimble  enough  at 
meal  time. 

From  the  window  of  her  room  Susan  saw  them  re- 
turning and  looked  surprised  as  well  as  a  bit  annoyed. 
Truth  to  tell,  Mistress  Susan,  with  her  capacity  for 
efdmiring  and  being  admired,  had  conceived  a  momen- 
tary interest  in  the  stranger,  a  fancy  as  light  as  it  was 
ephemeral.  That  touch  of  melancholy  when  his  face 
was  in  repose  inspired  a  transitory  desire  for  investi- 
gation in  this  past-mistress  of  emotional  analysis.  But 
the  arrival  of  the  coach  which  had  passed  the  couple 
soon  diverted  Susan's  thoughts  to  a  new  channel. 

The  equipage  drew  up,  and  a  young  man,  dressed 
in  a  style  novel  in  that  locality,  sprang  out.  He  wore 
a  silk  hat  with  scarcely  any  brim,  trousers  extremely 
wide  at  the  ankle,  a  waist-coat  of  the  dimensions  of 
1745,  and  large  watch  ribbons,  sustaining  ponderous 
bunches  of  seals. 

The  gallant  fop  touched  the  narrow  brim  of  his  hat 
to  Kate,  who  was  peeping  from  one  window,  and 
waved  a  kiss  to  Susan,  who  was  surreptitiously  glanc- 
ing from  another,  whereupon  both  being  detected, 
drew  back  hastily.  Overwhelmed  by  the  appearance 
of.  a  guest  of  such  manifest  distinction,  the  landlord 
bowed  obsequiously  as  the  other  entered  the  tavern 
with  a  supercilious  nod. 

To  Mistress  Susan  this  incident  was  exciting  while 


40  THE    STROLLERS 

it  lasted,  but  when  the  dandy  had  disappeared  her  at- 
tention was  again  attracted  to  Constance  and  Saint- 
Prosper,  who  slowly  approached.  He  paused  with  his 
horse  before  the  front  door  and  she  stood  a  moment 
near  the  little  porch,  on  either  side  of  which  grew 
sweet-williams,  four-o'clocks  and  larkspur.  But  the 
few  conventional  words  were  scanty  crumbs  for  the 
fair  eavesdropper  above,  the  young  girl  soon  entering 
the  house  and  the  soldier  leading  his  horse  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  stable.  As  the  latter  disappeared  around 
the  corner  of  the  tavern,  Susan  left  the  window  and 
turned  to  the  mirror. 

"La !"  she  said,  holding  a  mass  of  blond  hair  in  one 
hand  and  deftly  coiling  it  upon  her  little  head,  "I 
believe  she  got  up  early  to  meet  him."  But  Kate  only 
yawned  lazily. 

Retracing  his  steps  from  the  barn,  the  soldier 
crossed  the  back-yard,  where  already  on  the  clothes' 
line  evidences  of  early  matutinal  industry,  a  pair  of  blue 
over-alls,  with  sundry  white  and  red  stockings,  were 
dancing  in  the  breeze.  First  the  over-alls  performed 
wildly,  then  the  white  stockings  responded  with  vim, 
while  the  red  ones  outdid  themselves  by  their  shocking 
abandonment,  vaunting  skyward  as  though  impelled 
by  the  phantom  limbs  of  some  Parisian  danseuse. 

Making  his  way  by  this  dizzy  'saturnalia  and  avoid- 
ing the  pranks  of  animated  hosiery  and  the  more  pon- 
derous frolics  of  over-alls,  sheets  and  tablecloths,  Saint- 
Prosper  entered  the  kitchen.  Here  the  farm  hand 
and  maid  of  all  work  were  eating,  and  the  landlord's 


41 

rotund  and  energetic  wife  was  bustling  before  the 
fireplace.  An  old  iron  crane,  with  various  sized  pot- 
hooks and  links  of  chain,  swung  from  the  jambs  at 
the  will  of  the  housewife.  Boneset,  wormwood  and 
catnip  had  their  places  on  the  wall,  together  with  ears 
of  corn  and  strings  of  dried  apples. 

Bustling  and  active,  with  arms  bared  to  the  elbow 
and  white  with  flour,  the  spouse  of  mine  host  realized 
the  scriptural  injunction :  "She  looketh  well  to  the 
ways  of  her  household."  Deftly  she  spread  the  dough 
in  the  baking  pan ;  smoothly  leveled  it  with  her  palm ; 
with  nice  mathematical  precision  distributed  bits  of 
apple  on  top  in  parallel  rows ;  lightly  sprinkled  it 
with  sugar,  and,  lo  and  behold,  was  fashioned  an  hon- 
est, wholesome,  Dutch  apple  cake,  ready  for  the  bak- 
ing! 

In  the  tap-room  the  soldier  encountered  the  new- 
comer, seated  not  far  from  the  fire  as  though  his 
blood  flowed  sluggishly  after  his  long  ride  in  the 
chill  morning  air.  Upon  the  table  lay  his  hat,  and  he 
was  playing  with  the  seals  on  his  watch  ribbon,  his 
legs  indolently  stretched  out  straight  before  him.  Oc- 
casionally he  coughed  when  the  smoke,  exuding  from 
the  damp  wood,  was  not  entirely  expelled  up  the 
chimney,  but  curled  around  the  top  of  the  fireplace 
and  diffused  itself  into  the  atmosphere.  Well-built, 
although  somewhat  slender  of  figure,  this  latest  ar- 
rival had  a  complexion  of  tawny  brown,  a  living  rus- 
set, as  warm  and  glowing  as  the  most  vivid  of  Vandyke 
pigments. 


42  THE    STROLLERS 

He  raised  his  eyes  slowly  as  the  soldier  entered  and 
surveyed  him  deliberately.  From  a  scrutiny  of 
mere  physical  attributes  he  passed  on  to  the  more  im- 
portant details  of  clothes,  noting  that  his  sack  coat  was 
properly  loose  at  the  waist  and  that  the  buttons  were 
sufficiently  large  to  pass  muster,  but  also  detecting  that 
the  trousers  lacked  breadth  at  the  ankles  and  that 
the  hat  had  a  high  crown  and  a  broad  brim,  from 
which  he  complacently  concluded  the  other  was 
somewhat  behind  the  shifting  changes  of  fashion. 

"Curse  me,  if  this  isn't  a  beastly  fire !"  he  exclaimed, 
stretching  himself  still  more,  yawning  and  passing  a 
hand  through  his  black  hair.  "Hang  them,  they  might 
as  well  shut  up  their  guests  in  the  smoke-house  with 
the  bacons  and  hams !  I  feel  as  cured  as  a  side  of  pig, 
ready  to  be  hung  to  a  dirty  rafter." 

With  which  he  pulled  himself  together,  went  to  the 
window,  raised  it  and  placed  a  stick  under  the  frame. 

"They  tell  me  there's  a  theatrical  troupe  here,"  he 
resumed,  returning  to  his  chair  and  relapsing  into  its 
depths.  "Perhaps  you  are  one  of  them?" 

"I  have  not  that  honor." 

"Honor!"  repeated  the  new  arrival  with  a  laugh. 
"That's  good !  That  was  one  of  them  on  the  road  with 
you,  I'll  be  bound.  You  have  good  taste !  Heigho !" 
he  yawned  again.  "I'm  anchored  here  awhile  on  ac- 
count of  a  lame  horse.  Perhaps  though" — brighten- 
ing-— "it  may  not  be  so  bad  after  all.  These  players 
promise  some  diversion."  At  that  moment  his  face 
wore  an  expression  of  airy,  jocund  assurance  which 


ANEWARRIVAL  43 

faded  to  visible  annoyance  as  he  continued :  "Where 
can  that  landlord  be?  He  placed  me  in  this  kennel, 
vanished,  and  left  me  to  my  fate.  Ah,  here  he  is  at 
last!"  As  the  host  approached,  respectfully  inquir- 
ing: 

"Is  there  anything  more  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"More?"  exclaimed  this  latest  guest,  ironically. 
"Well,  better  late  than  never!  See  that  my  servant 
has  help  with  the  trunks." 

"Very  well,  sir;  I'll  have  Sandy  look  after  them. 
You  are  going  to  stay  then  ?"  Shifting  several  bottles 
on  the  bar  with  apparent  industry. 

"How  can  I  tell?"  returned  the  new-comer  lightly. 
"Fate  is  a  Sphynx,  and  I  am  not  OEdipus  to  answer 
her  questions !" 

The  landlord  looked  startled,  paused  in  his  feigned 
employment,  but  slowly  recovering  himself,  began 
to  dust  a  jar  of  peppermint  candy. 

"How  far  is  it  to  Meadtown  ?"  continued  the  guest. 

"Forty  odd  miles !  Perhaps  you  are  seeking  the  old 
patroon  manor  there?  They  say  the  heir  is  expected 
any  day" — gazing  fixedly  at  the  young  man — "at  least, 
the  anti-renters  have  received  information  he  is  coming 
and  are  preparing — " 

The  sprightly  guest  threw  up  his  hands. 

"The  trunks !  the  trunks !"  he  exclaimed  in  accents 
of  despair.  "Look  at  the  disorder  of  my  attire!  The 
pride  of  these  ruffles  leveled  by  the  dew;  my  wrist- 
bands in  disarray ;  the  odor  of  the  road  pervading  my 
person !  The  trunks,  I  pray  you !" 


44  THE   STROLLERS 

"Yes,  sir;  at  once,  sir!  But  first  let  me  introduce 
you  to  Mr.  Saint-Prosper,  of  Paris,  France.  Make 
yourselves  at  home,  gentlemen!" 

With  which  the  speaker  hurriedly  vanished  and  soon 
the  bumping  and  thumping  in  the  hall  gave  cheering 
assurance  of  instructions  fulfilled. 

"That  porter  is  a  prince  among  his  kind,"  observed 
the  guest  satirically,  wincing  as  an  unusual  bang  over- 
head shook  the  ceiling.  "But  I'll  warrant  my  man 
won't  have  to  open  my  luggage  after  he  gets  through." 

Then  as  quiet  followed  the  racket  above — "So  you're 
from  Paris,  France?"  he  asked  half-quizzically.  "Well, 
it's  a  pleasure  to  meet  somebody  from  somewhere. 
As  I,  too,  have  lived — not  in  vain! — -in  Paris,  France, 
we  may  have  mutual  friends  ?" 

"It  is  unlikely,"  said  the  soldier,  who  meanwhile 
had  drawn  off  his  riding  gloves,  placed  them  on  the 
mantel,  and  stood  facing  the  fire,  with  his  back  to  the 
other  guest.  As  he  spoke  he  turned  deliberately  and 
bent  his  penetrating  glance  on  his  questioner. 

"Really?  Allow  me  to  be  skeptical,  as  I  have  con- 
siderable acquaintance  there.  In  the  army  there's  that 
fire-eating  conqueror  of  the  ladies,  Gen — " 

"My  rank  was  not  so  important,"  interrupted  the 
other,  "that  I  numbered  commanders  among  my  per- 
sonal friends." 

"As  you  please,"  said  the  last  guest  carelessly.  "I 
had  thought  to  exchange  a  little  gossip  with  you,  but 
—  n 'import el  In  my  own  veins  flows  some  of  the 
blood  of  your  country." 


ANEWARRIVAL  45 

For  the  time  his  light  manner  forsook  him. 

"Her  tumults  have,  in  a  measure,  been  mine,"  he 
continued.  "Now  she  is  without  a  king,  I  am  well- 
nigh  without  a  mother-land.  True ;  I  was  not  born 
there — but  it  is  the  nurse  the  child  turns  to.  Paris 
was  my  bonne — a  merry  abigail !  Alas,  her  vicious 
brood  have  turned  on  her  and  cast  her  ribbons  in  the 
mire !  Untroubled  by  her  own  brats,  she  could  extend 
^her  estates  to  the  Eldorado  of  the  southwestern  seas." 
He  had  arisen  and,  with  hands  behind  his  back,  was 
striding  to  and  fro.  Coming  suddenly  to  a  pause,  he 
asked  abruptly : 

"Do  you  know  the  Abbe  Moneau?" 

At  the  mention  of  that  one-time  subtle  confidant 
of  the  deposed  king,  now  the  patron  of  republicanism, 
Saint-Prosper  once  more  regarded  his  companion  atten- 
tively. 

"By  reputation,  certainly,"  he  answered,  slowly. 

"He  was  my  tutor  and  is  now  my  frequent  cor- 
respondent. Not  a  bad  sort  of  mentor,  either !"  The 
new  arrival  paused  and  smiled  reflectively.  "Only  re- 
cently I  received  a  letter  from  him,  with  private  de- 
tails of  the  flight  of  the  king  and  vague  intimations 
of  a  scandal  in  the  army,  lately  come  to  light." 

His  listener  half-started  from  his  seat  and  had  the 
speaker  not  been  more  absorbed  in  his  own  easy  flow 
of  conversation  than  in  the  attitude  of  the  other,  he 
would  have  noticed  that  quick  change  of  manner.  Not 
perceiving  it,  however,  he  resumed  irrelevantly : 

"You  see   I   am   a   sociable   animal.     After   being 


46  THE    STROLLERS 

cramped  in  that  miserable  coach  for  hours,  it  is  a  relief 
to  loosen  one's  tongue  as  well  as  one's  legs.  Even  this 
smoky  hovel  suggests  good-fellowship  and  jollity  be- 
yond a  dish  of  tea.  Will  you  not  join  me  in  a  bottle 
of  wine?  I  carry  some  choice  brands  to  obviate  the 
necessity  of  drinking  the  home-brewed  concoctions  of 
the  inn-keepers  of  this  district." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  soldier,  at  the  same  time 
rising  from  his  chair.  "I  have  no  inclination  so  early 
in  the  day." 

"Early  ?"  queried  the  new-comer.  "A  half-pint  of 
Chateau  Cheval  Blanc  or  Cru  du  Chevalier,  high  and 
vinous,  paves  a  possible  way  for  Brother  Jonathan's 
dejeuner — fried  pork,  potatoes  and  chicory !"  And 
turning  to  his  servant  who  had  meanwhile  entered,  he 
addressed  a  few  words  to  him,  and,  as  the  door  closed 
on  the  soldier,  exclaimed  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  : 

"An  unsociable  fellow !  I  wonder  what  he  is  doing 
here." 


CHAPTER    III 

AN    INCOMPREHENSIBLE    VENTURE 

Pancakes,  grits,  home-made  sausage,  and,  before 
each  guest,  an  egg  that  had  been  proudly  heralded  by 
the  clucking  hen  but  a  few  hours  before — truly  a 
bountiful  breakfast,  discrediting  the  latest  guest's  an- 
ticipations !  The  manager,  in  high  spirits,  mercurial 
as  the  weather,  came  down  from  his  room,  a  bundle  of 
posters  under  his  arm,  boisterously  greeting  Saint- 
Prosper,  whom  he  encountered  in  the  hall : 

"Read  the  bill!  'That  incomparable  comedy,  The 
Honeymoon,  by  a  peerless  company.'  How  does  that 
sound  ?" 

"Attractive,  certainly,"  said  the  other. 

"Do  you  think  it  strong  enough?  How  would  *un- 
paragoned'  do?" 

"It  would  be  too  provincial,  my  dear;  too  provin- 
cial !"  interrupted  the  querulous  voice  of  the  old  lady. 

"Very  well,  Madam !"  the  manager  replied  quickly. 
"You  shall  be  'peerless'  if  you  wish.  Every  fence  shall 
proclaim  it;  every  post  become  loquacious  with  it." 

"I  was  going  to  the  village  myself,"  said  the  soldier, 
(47) 


48  THE    STROLLERS 

"and  will  join  you,  if  you  don't  mind?"  he  added  sud- 
denly. 

"Mind?  Not  a  bit.  Come  along,  and  you  shall 
learn  of  the  duties  of  manager,  bill-poster,  press-agent 
and  license-procurer." 

An  hour  or  so  later  found  the  two  walking  down  the 
road  at  a  brisk  pace,  soon  leaving  the  tavern  behind 
them  and  beginning  to  descend  a  hill  that  commanded 
a  view  to  eastward. 

"How  do  you  advertise  your  performances?"  asked 
the  younger  man,  opening  the  conversation. 

"By  posters,  written  announcements  in  the  taverns, 
or  a  notice  in  the  country  paper,  if  we  happen  along 
just  before  it  goes  to  press,"  answered  Barnes.  "In 
the  old  times  we  had  the  boy  and  the  bell." 

"The  boy  and  the  bell  ?" 

"Yes,"  assented  Barnes,  a  retrospective  smile  over- 
spreading his  good-natured  face ;  "when  I  was  a  lad  in 
Devonshire  the  manager  announced  the  performance 
in  the  town  market-place.  I  rang  a  cow-bell  to  attract 
attention  and  he  talked  to  the  people :  Ding-a-ling ! — 
'Good  people,  to-night  will  be  given  "Love  in  a 
Wood";'  ding-a-long! — 'to-morrow  night, "The  Beaux' 
Strategem"  ;'  ding ! — 'Wednesday,  "The  Provoked 
Wife";'  ling!— 'Thursday,  "The  Way  of  the  World."  ' 
So  I  made  my  debut  in  a  noisy  part  and  have  since 
played  no  role  more  effectively  than  that  of  the  small 
boy  with  the  big  bell.  Incidentally,  I  had  to  clean  the 
lamps  and  fetch  small  beer  to  the  leading  lady,  which 
duties  were  perfunctorily  performed.  My  art,  how- 


A   VENTURE  49 

ever,  I  threw  into  the  bell,"  concluded  the  manager 
with  a  laugh. 

"Do  you  find  many  theaters  hereabouts?"  asked  the 
other,  thoughtfully. 

Barnes  shook  his  head.  "No ;  although  there  are 
plenty  of  them  upon  the  Atlantic  and  Southern  circuits. 
Still  we  can  usually  rent  a  hall,  erect  a  stage  and  con- 
struct tiers  of  seats.  Even  a  barn  at  a  pinch  makes 
an  acceptable  temple  of  art.  But  our  principal  diffi- 
culty is  procuring  licenses  to  perform." 

"You  have  to  get  permission  to  play?" 

"That  we  do !"  sighed  the  manager.  "From  obdu- 
rate trustees  in  villages  and  stubborn  supervisors  or 
justices  of  the  peace  in  the  hamlets." 

"But  their  reason  for  this  opposition?"  asked  his 
companion. 

They  were  now  entering  the  little  hamlet,  exchang- 
ing the  grassy  path  for  a  sidewalk  of  planks  laid  length- 
wise, and  the  peace  of  nature  for  such  signs  of  civiliza- 
tion as  a  troop  of  geese,  noisily  promenading  across  the 
thoroughfare,  and  a  peacock — in  its  pride  of  pomp  as 
a  favored  bird  of  old  King  Solomon — crying  from  the 
top  of  the  shed  and  proudly  displaying  its  gorgeous 
train.  Barnes  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow, 
as  he  answered : 

"Well,  a  temperance  and  anti-theatrical  agitation  has 
preceded  us  in  the  Shadengo  Valley,  a  movement  orig- 
inated in  Baltimore  by  seven  men  who  had  been  drunk- 
ards and  are  now  lecturing  throughout  the  country. 
This  is  known  as  the  "Washington"  movement,  and 


50  THE   STROLLERS 

among  the  most  formidable  leaders  of  the  crusade  is 
an  old  actor,  John  B.  Gough.  But  here  we  are 
at  the  supervisor's  office.  I'll  run  in  and  get  the  li- 
cense, if  you'll  wait  a  moment." 

Saint-Prosper  assented,  and  Barnes  disappeared 
through  the  door  of  a  one-story  wooden  building  which 
boasted  little  in  its  architectural  appearance  and  whose 
principal  decorations  consisted  of  a  small  window- 
garden  containing  faded  geraniums,  and  a  sign  with 
sundry  inverted  letters.  The  neighborhood  of  this 
far  from  imposing  structure  was  a  rendezvous  for  many 
of  the  young  men  of  the  place  who  had  much  leisure, 
and,  to  judge  from  the  sidewalk,  an  ample  supply  of 
Lone  Jack  or  some  other  equally  popular  plug  tobacco. 
As  Saint-Prosper  surveyed  his  surroundings,  the  Lone 
Jack,  or  other  delectable  brand,  was  unceremoniously 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  with  immediate  and  sur- 
prising results  so  far  as  the  sidewalk  was  concerned. 
Regarding  these  village  yokels  with  some  curiosity,  the 
soldier  saw  in  them  a  possible  type  of  the  audiences  to 
which  the  strollers  must  appeal  for  favor.  To  such 
hobnails  must  the  fair  Rosalind  say:  "I  would  kiss 
as  many  of  you  as  had  beards  that  pleased  me."  And 
the  churls  would  applaud  with  their  cowhide  boots,  de- 
vour her  with  eager  eyes  and — at  this  point  the  soldier 
found  himself  unconsciously  frowning  at  his  village 
neighbors  until,  with  an  impatient  laugh,  he  recalled 
his  wandering  fancies.  What  was  it  to  him  whether 
the  players  appeared  in  city  or  hamlet?  Why  should 


A   VENTURE  51 

he  concern  himself  in  possible  conjectures  on  the  for- 
tunes of  these  strollers  ?     Moreover — 

Here  Barnes  reappeared  with  dejection  in  his  man- 
ner, and,  treacling  his  way  absent-mindedly  past  the 
Lone  Jack  contingent  with  no  word  of  explanation  to 
his  companion,  began  to  retrace  his  steps  toward  the 
hostelry  on  the  hill. 

"Going  back  so  soon  ?"  asked  the  young  man  in  sur- 
prjse. 

/'There  is  nothing  to  be  done  here !  The  temperance 
lecturer  has  just  gone ;  the  people  are  set  against  plays 
and  players.  The  supervisor  refuses  the  license." 

With  which  the  manager  relapsed  into  silence,  rueful 
and  melancholy.  Their  road  ran  steadily  upward  from 
the  sleepy  valley,  skirting  a  wood  where  the  luxuriance 
of  the  overhanging  foliage  and  the  bright  autumnal 
tint  of  the  leaves  were  like  a  scene  of  a  spectacular 
play.  Out  of  breath  from  the  steepness  of  the  ascent, 
and,  with  his  hand  pressed  to  his  side,  Barnes  sud- 
denly called  a  halt,  seated  himself  on  a  stump,  his  face 
somewhat  drawn,  and  spoke  for  the  first  time  since  he 
left  the  hamlet. 

"Let's  rest  a  moment.  Something  catches  me  occa- 
sionally here,"  tapping  his  heart.  "Ah,  that's  better! 
The  pain  has  left.  No ;  it's  nothing.  The  machinery 
is  getting  old,  that's  all !  Let  me  see — Ah,  yes !" 
And  he  drew  a  cigar  from  his  pocket.  "Perhaps  there 
lies  a  crumb  of  comfort  in  the  weed !" 

The  manager  smoked  contemplatively,  like  a  man 


52  THE   STROLLERS 

pushed  to  the  verge  of  disaster,  weighing  the  slender 
chances  of  mending  his  broken  fortunes.  But  as  he 
pondered  his  face  gradually  lightened  with  a  faint 
glimmer  of  satisfaction.  His  mind,  seeking  for  a 
straw,  caught  at  a  possible  way  out  of  this  labyrinth 
of  difficulties  and  in  a  moment  he  had  straightened  up, 
puffing  veritable  optimistic  wreaths.  He  arose  buoy- 
antly ;  before  he  reached  the  inn  the  crumb  of  comfort 
had  become  a  loaf  of  assurance. 

At  the  tavern  the  manager  immediately  sought  mine 
host,  stating  his  desire  to  give  a  number  of  free  per- 
formances in  the  dining-room  of  the  hotel.  The  land- 
lord demurred  stoutly ;  he  was  an  inn-keeper,  not  the 
proprietor  of  a  play-house.  Were  not  tavern  and  the- 
ater inseparable,  retorted  Barnes?  The  country  host 
had  always  been  a  patron  of  the  histrionic  art.  Be- 
neath his  windows  the  masque  and  interlude  were 
born.  The  mystery,  harlequinade  and  divertissement 
found  shelter  in  a  pot-house. 

In  a  word,  so  indefatigably  did  he  ply  arguments, 
appealing  alike  to  clemency  and  cupidity — the  custom 
following  such  a  course — that  the  landlord  at  length 
reluctantly  consented,  and  soon  after  the  dining-room 
was  transformed  into  a  temple  of  art ;  stinted,  it 
is  true,  for  flats,  drops,  flies  and  screens,  but  at  least 
more  tenable  than  the  roofless  theaters  of  other  days, 
when  a  down-pour  drenched  the  players  and  washed 
out  the  public,  causing  rainy  tears  to  drip  from  Ophe- 
lia's nose  and  rivulets  of  rouge  to  trickle  down  my 
Lady  Slipaway's  marble  neck  and  shoulders.  In  this 


AVENTURE  53 

labor  of  converting  the  dining-room  into  an  auditory, 
they  found  an  attentive  observer  in  the  landlord's 
daughter  who  left  her  pans,  plates  and  platters  to 
watch  these  preparations  with  round-eyed  admiration. 
To  her  that  temporary  stage  was  surrounded  by  gla- 
mour and  romance;  a  world  remote  from  cook,  scul- 
lion and  maid  of  all  work,  and  peopled  with  well-born 
dames,  courtly  ladies  and  exalted  princesses. 

possibly  interested  in  what  seemed  an  incompre- 
hensible venture — for  how  could  the  manager's  coffers 
be  replenished  by  free  performances? — Saint-Prosper 
that  afternoon  reminded  Barnes  he  had  returned  from 
the  village  without  fulfilling  his  errand. 

"Dear  me !"  exclaimed  Barnes,  his  face  wrinkling  in 
perplexity.  "What  have  I  been  thinking  about?  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  go  now.  Hawkes  or  O'Flariaty 
can't  be  spared,  what  with  lamps  to  polish  and  cos- 
tumes to  get  in  order  !  Hum !"  he  mused  dubiously. 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  use,  command  me,"  said  the  sol- 
dier, unexpectedly. 

"You !" — exclaimed  the  manager.  "I  could  not 
think—" 

"Oh,  it's  a  notable  occupation,"  said  the  other  with 
a  satirical  smile.  "Was  it  not  the  bill-posters  who 
caused  the  downfall  of  the  French  dynasty?"  he  ad- 
ded. 

"In  that  case,"  laughed  Barnes,  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
"go  ahead  and  spread  the  inflammable  dodgers  !  Paste 
them  everywhere,  except  on  the  tombstones  in  the 
graveyard." 


54  THE   STROLLERS 

Conspicuously  before  the  postoffice,  grocery  store, 
on  the  town  pump  and  the  fence  of  the  village  church, 
some  time  later,  the  soldier  accordingly  nailed  the 
posters,  followed  by  an  inquisitive  group,  who  read 
the  following  announcement :  "Tuesday,  'The  Honey- 
moon' ;  Wednesday,  'The  School  for  Scandal' ;  Thurs- 
day, 'The  Stranger,'  with  diverting  specialties;  Fri- 
day, 'Romeo  and  Juliet';  Saturday,  'Hamlet,'  with  a 
Jig  by  Kate  Duran.  At  the  Travelers'  Friend.  En- 
trance Free." 

"They're  going  to  play  after  all,"  commented  the 
blacksmith's  wife. 

"I  don't  see  much  harm  in  'Hamlet,' "  said  the  super- 
visor's yokemate.  "It  certainly  ain't  frivolous." 

"Let's  go  to  'The  Honeymoon'  ?"  suggested  an 
amorous  carl  to  his  slip-slop  Sal. 

"Go  'long!"  she  retorted  with  barn-yard  bashful- 
ness. 

"Did  you  ever  see  'The  School  for  Scandal'  ?"  asked 
the  smithy's  good  wife. 

"Once,"  confessed  the  town  official's  faded  consort, 
her  worn  face  lighting  dreamily.  "It  was  on  our  wed- 
ding trip  to  New  York.  Silas  warn't  so  strict  then." 

Amid  chit-chat,  so  diverting,  Saint-Prosper  fin- 
ished "posting"  the  town.  It  had  been  late  in  the 
afternoon  before  he  had  altered  the  posters  and  set  out 
on  his  paradoxical  mission  ;  the  sun  was  declining  when 
he  returned  homeward.  Pausing  at  a  cross-road,  he 
selected  a  tree  for  one  of  his  remaining  Announcements. 
It  was  already  adorned  with  a  dodger,  citing  the  escape 


A   VENTURE  55 

of  a  negro  slave  and  offering  a  reward  for  his  appre- 
hension ;  not  an  uncommon  document  in  the  North  in 
those  days. 

As  the  traveler  read  the  bill  his  expression  became 
clouded,  cheerless.  Around  him  the  fallen  leaves  gave 
forth  a  pleasant  fragrance ;  caught  in  the  currents  of 
the  air,  they  danced  in  a  circle  and  then  broke  away, 
hurrying  helter-skelter  in  all  directions. 

MfPoor  devil !"  he  muttered.     "A  fugitive — in  hiding 

» 

And  he  nailed  one  of  his  own  bills  over  the  dodger. 
As  he  stood  there  reflectively  the  lights  began  to  twin- 
kle in  the  village  below  like  stars  winking  upwards; 
the  ascending  smoke  from  a  chimney  seemed  a  film 
of  lace  drawn  slowly  through  the  air ;  from  the  village 
forge  came  a  brighter  glow  as  the  sparks  danced  from 
the  hammers  on  the  anvils. 

Shaking  the  reins  on  his  horse's  neck,  the  soldier 
continued  his  way,  while  the  sun,  out  of  its  city  of 
clouds,  sent  beams  like  a  searchlight  to  the  church 
spire ;  the  fields,  marked  by  the  plow ;  the  gaunt 
stumps  in  a  clearing,  displaying  their  giant  sinews. 
Then  the  resplendent  rays  vanished,  the  battlements 
crumbled  away  and  night,  with  its  army  of  shadows, 
invaded  the  earth.  As  Saint-Prosper  approached  the 
tavern,  set  prominently  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  all  was 
solemnly  restful  save  the  sign  which  now  creaked  in 
doleful  doldrums  and  again  complained  wildly  as  the 
wind  struck  it  a  vigorous  blow.  The  windows  were 
bright  from  the  fire-place  and  lamp;  above  the  door 


56  THE    STROLLERS 

the  light  streamed  through  the  open  transom  upon 
the  swaying  sign  and  the  fluttering  leaves  of  the  vine 
that  clambered  around  the  entrance. 

In  the  parlor,  near  a  deteriorated  piano  whose  yellow 
keys  were  cracked  and  broken — in  almost  the  seventh 
stage  of  pianodum,  sans  teeth,  sans  wire,  sans  every- 
thing— he  saw  the  dark-eyed  girl  and  reined  his  horse. 
As  he  did  so,  she  seated  herself  upon  the  hair-cloth 
stool,  pressed  a  white  finger  to  a  discolored  key  and 
smiled  at  the  not  unexpected  result — the  squeak  of 
decrepitude.  While  her  hand  still  rested  on  the  board 
and  her  features  shone  strongly  in  relief  against  the 
fire  like  a  cameo  profile  set  in  bloodstone,  a  figure  ap- 
proached, and,  leaning  gracefully  upon  the  palsied  in- 
strument, bent  over  her  with  smiling  lips.  It  was  the 
grand  seignior,  he  of  the  equipage  with  silver  trim- 
mings. If  the  horseman's  gaze  rested,  not  without  in- 
terest, on  the  pleasing  picture  of  the  young  actress,  it 
was  now  turned  with  sudden  and  greater  intentness  to 
that  of  the  dashing  stranger,  a  swift  interrogation 
glancing  from  that  look. 

How  had  he  made  his  peace  with  her?  Certainly 
her  manner  now  betrayed  no  resentment.  While  mo- 
tionless the  rider  yet  sat  in  his  saddle,  an  invisible  hand 
grasped  the  reins. 

"Shall  I  put  up  your  horse?"  said  a  small  voice,  and 
the  soldier  quickly  dismounted,  the  animal  vanishing 
with  the  speaker,  as  Saint-Prosper  entered  the  inn. 
Gay,  animated,  conscious  of  his  attractions,  the  fop 
hovered  over  the  young  girl,  an  all-pervading  Hy- 


AVENTURE  57 

perion,  with  faultless  ruffles,  white  hands,  and  voice' 
softly  modulated.  That  evening  the  soldier  played 
piquet  with  the  wiry  old  lady,  losing  four  shillings  to 
that  antiquated  gamester,  and,  when  he  had  paid  the 
stakes,  trie  young  girl  was  gone  and  the  buoyant  beau 
had  sought  diversion  in  his  cups. 

"Strike  me,"  muttered  the  last  named  personage, 
"the  little  stroller  has  spirit.  How  her  eyes  flashed 
when  I  first  approached  her!  It  required  some  tact 
and  acting  to  make  her  believe  I  took  her  for  some 
one  else  on  the  road.  Not  such  an  easy  conquest  as  I 
thought,  although  I  imagine  I  have  put  that  adventur- 
er's nose  out  of  joint.  But  why  should  I  waste  time 
here?  Curse  it,  just  to  cut  that  fellow  out!  Land- 
lord !" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  host  behind  the  bar,  where 
he  had  been  quietly  dozing  on  a  stool  with  his  back 
against  the  wall. 

"Do  you  think  my  horse  will  be  fit  for  use  to-morrow 
morning  ?" 

"The  swelling  has  gone  down,  sir,  and  perhaps, 
with  care — " 

"Perhaps !  I'll  take  no.  chances.  Hang  the  nag, 
but  I  must  make  the  best  of  it!  See  that  my  bed  is 
xvell  warmed,  and" — rising — "don't  call  me  in  the 
morning.  I'll  get  up  when  I  please.  Tell  my  man 
to  come  up  at  once — I  suppose  he's  out  with  the 
kitchen  wenches.  I  have  some  orders  to  give  him  for 
the  morning.  Stay — send  up  a  lamp,  and — well,  I 
believe  that's  all  for  now !" 


CHAPTER    IV 
"GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES,  o!" 

So  well  advertised  in  the  village  had  been  the  the- 
atrical company  and  so  greatly  had  the  crusade  against 
the  play  and  players  whetted  public  curiosity  that  on 
the  evening  of  the  first  performance  every  bench  in 
the  dining-room — auditorium — of  the  tavern  had  an 
occupant,  while  in  the  rear  the  standing  room  was 
filled  by  the  overflow.  Upon  the  counter  of  the  bar 
were  seated  a  dozen  or  more  men,  including  the 
schoolmaster,  an  itinerant  pedagogue  who  "boarded 
around"  and  received  his  pay  in  farm  products,  and 
the  village  lawyer,  attired  in  a  claret-colored  frock 
coat,  who  often  was  given  a  pig  for  a  retainer,  or 
knotty  wood,  unfit  for  rails. 

From  his  place,  well  to  the  front,  the  owner  of  the 
private  equipage  surveyed  the  audience  with  consid- 
erable amusement  and  complacency.  He  was  fastidi- 
ously dressed  in  double-breasted  waist-coat  of  figured 
silk,  loosely  fitting  trousers,  fawn-colored  kid  gloves, 
light  pumps  and  silk  hose.  Narrow  ruffles  edged  his 
wristbands  which  were  fastened  with  link  buttons, 

(58) 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES  59 

while  the  lining  of  his  evening  coat  was  of  immacu- 
late white  satin.  As  he  gazed  around  upon  a  scene  at 
once  novel  and  incongruous,  he  took  from  his  pocket 
a  little  gold  case,  bearing  an  ivory  miniature,  and, 
with  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors  bent  expectantly  upon 
him,  extracted  therefrom  a  small,  white  cylinder. 

"What  may  that  be,  mister  ?"  inquired  an  inquisitive 
rustic,  placing  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

*  The  latter  drew  back  as  if  resenting  that  familiar 
touch,  and,  by  way  of  answer,  poised  the  cylinder  in  a 
tiny  holder  and  deliberately  lighted  it,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  his  questioner.  Cigarettes  were  then  un- 
known in  that  part  of  the  state  and  the  owner  of  the 
coach  enjoyed  the  dubious  distinction  of  being  the  first 
to  introduce  them  there.  "Since  which  time,"  says 
Chronicler  Barnes  in  his  memoirs,  "their  use  and 
abuse  has,  I  believe,  extended." 

The  lighting  of  the  aboriginal  American  cigarette 
drew  general  attention  to  the  smoker  and  the  doctor, 
not  a  man  of  modern  small  pills,  but  a  liberal  dis- 
penser of  calomel,  jalap,  castor-oil  and  quinine,  whis- 
pered to  the  landlord : 

"Azeriah,  who  might  he  be  ?" 

"The  heir  of  the  patroon  estate,  Ezekiel.  I  found 
the  name  on  his  trunks :  'Edward  Mauville.'  " 

"Sho!     Going  to  take  possession  at  the  manor?" 

"He  cal'lates  to,  I  guess,  ef  he  can  !" 

"Yes ;  ef  he  can !"  significantly  repeated  the  doctor. 
"So  this  is  the  foreign  heir?  He's  got  wristbands 
like  a  woman  and  hands  just  as  small.  Wears  gloves 


60  THE    STROLLERS 

like  my  darter  when  she  goes  to  meeting-house !  And 
silk  socks !  Why,  the  old  patroon  didn't  wear  none 
at  all,  and  corduroy  was  good  enough  for  him,  they 
say.  Wonder  how  the  barn-burners  will  take  to  the 
silk  socks?  Who's  the  other  stranger,  Azeriah?" 
Indicating  with  his  thumb  the  soldier,  who,  stand- 
ing against  a  window  casement  in  the  rear  of  the  room, 
was  by  his  height  a  conspicuous  figure  in  the  gather- 
ing. 

"I  don't  exactly  know,  Ezekiel,"  replied  the  land- 
lord, regretfully.  "Not  that  I  didn't  try  to  find  out," 
he  added  honestly,  "but  he  was  so  close,  I  couldn't  get 
nothing  from  him.  He's  from  Paris,  France ;  may  be 
Louis  Philippe  himself,  for  all  I  know." 

"No;  he  ain't  Louis  Philippe,"  returned  the  doctor 
with  decision,  "  'cause  I  seen  his  likeness  in  the  maga- 
zine." 

"Might  be  the  dolphin  then,"  suggested  the  boni- 
face.  "He's  so  mighty  mysterious." 

"Dolphin!"  retorted  the  other  contemptuously. 
"There  ain't  no  dolphin.  There  hasn't  been  no  dol- 
phin since  the  French  Revolution." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  but  there  might  a  been,"  said 
the  landlord  vaguely. 

From  mouth  to  mouth  the  information,  gleaned  by 
the  village  doctor,  was  circulated ;  speculation  had  been 
rife  ever  since  the  demise  of  the  last  patroon  regarding 
his  successor,  and,  although  the  locality  was  beyond 
the  furthermost  reach  of  that  land-holder,  their  interest 
was  none  the  less  keen.  The  old  master  of  the  manor 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES  61 

had  been  like  a  myth,  much  spoken  of,  never  seen 
without  the  boundaries  of  his  acres ;  but  the  new  lord 
was  a  reality,  a  creditable  creation  of  tailor,  hatter, 
hosier,  cobbler — which  trades  had  not  flourished  under 
the  old  master  who  bought  his  clothes,  cap  and  boots 
at  a  country  store,  owned  by  himself.  Anticipation  of 
the  theatrical  performance  was  thus  relieved  in  a  meas- 
ure by  the  presence  of  the  heir,  but  the  delay,  incident 
to  a  first  night  on  an  improvised  stage,  was  so  unusual 
that  the  audience  at  length  began  to  evince  signs  of 
restlessness. 

Finally,  however,  when  the  landlord's  daughter  had 
gazed  what  seemed  to  her  an  interminable  period  upon 
the  lady  and  the  swan,  the  lake  and  the  greyhound, 
painted  on  the  curtain,  this  picture  vanished  by  de- 
grees, with  an  exhilarating  creaking  of  the  rollers,  and 
was  succeeded  by  the  representation  of  a  room  in  a 
cottage.  The  scenery,  painted  in  distemper  and  not 
susceptible  to  wind  or  weather,  had  manifold  uses,  re- 
appearing later  in  the  performance  as  a  nobleman's 
palace,  supplemented,  it  is  true,  by  a  well-worn  carpet 
to  indicate  ducal  luxury. 

Some  trifling  changes — concessions  to  public  opinion 
— were  made  in  the  play,  notably  in  the  scene  where 
the  duke,  with  ready  hospitality,  offers  wine  to  the 
rustic  Lopez.  In  Barnes'  expurgated,  "Washington- 
ian"  version  (be  not  shocked,  O  spirit  of  good  Master 
Tobin!)  the  countryman  responded  reprovingly:  "Fie, 
my  noble  Duke !  Have  you  no  water  from  the  well  ?" 
An  answer  diametrically  opposed  to  the  tendencies  of 


62  THE   STROLLERS 

the  sack-guzzling,  roistering,  madcap  playwrights  of 
that  early  period ! 

On  the  whole  the  representation  was  well-balanced, 
with  few  weak  spots  in  the  acting  for  fault  finding, 
even  from  a  more  captious  gathering.  In  the  costumes, 
it  is  true,  the  carping  observer  might  have  detected 
some  flaws ;  notably  in  Adonis,  a  composite  fashion 
plate,  who  strutted  about  in  the  large  boots  of  the  Low 
Countries,  topped  with  English  trunk  hose  of  1550; 
his  hand  upon  the  long  rapier  of  Charles  II,  while  a 
periwig  and  hat  of  William  III  crowned  his  empty 
pate! 

Kate  was  Votante;  not  Tobin's  Volante,  but  one 
fashioned  out  of  her  own  characteristics ;  supine,  but 
shapely;  heavy,  but  handsome;  slow,  but  specious. 
Susan,  with  hair  escaping  in  roguish  curls  beneath  her 
little  cap ;  her  taper  waist  encompassed  by  a  page's 
tunic ;  the  trim  contour  of  her  figure  frankly  revealed 
by  her  vestment,  was  truly  a  lad  "dressed  up  to  cozen" 
any  lover  who  preferred  his  friend  and  his  bottle  to  his 
mistress.  Merry  as  a  sand-boy  she  danced  about  in 
russet  boots  that  came  to  the  knee;  lithe  and  lissome 
in  the  full  swing  of  immunity  from  skirts,  mantle  and 
petticoats ! 

Conscious  that  his  identity  had  been  divined,  and 
relishing,  perhaps,  the  effect  of  its  discovery,  the 
young  patroon  gazed  languidly  at  the  players,  until 
the  entrance  of  Constance  as  Juliana,  when  he  forgot 
the  pleasing  sensations  of  self-thought,  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  actress.  He  remarked  a  girlish  form  of 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES  63 

much  grace,  attired  in  an  attractive  gown  of  white 
satin  and  silver,  as  became  a  bride,  with  train  and  low 
shimmering  bodice,  revealing  the  round  arms  and 
shoulders  which  arose  ivory-like  in  whiteness.  In- 
stead of  the  customary  feathers  and  other  ornaments 
of  the  period,  specified  in  the  text  of  the  play,  roses 
alone  softened  the  effect  of  her  dark  hair.  Very  dif- 
ferent she  appeared  in  this  picturesque  Spanish  attire 
from  the  lady  of  the  lane,  with  the  coquettish  cap  of 
muslin  and  its  "brides,"  or  strings. 

The  light  that  burned  within  shone  from  her  eyes, 
proud  yet  gay ;  it  lurked  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth, 
where  gravity  followed  merriment,  as  silence  follows 
laughter  when  the  brook  sweeps  from  the  purling 
stones  to  the  deeper  pools.  Her  art  was  unconscious 
of  itself  and  scene  succeeded  scene  with  a  natural 
charm,  revealing  unexpected  resources,  from  pathos  to 
sorrow ;  from  vanity  to  humility ;  from  scorn  to  love 
awakened.  And,  when  the  transition  did  come,  every 
pose  spoke  of  the  quickening  heart ;  her  movements 
proclaimed  the  golden  fetters ;  passion  shone  in  her 
'glances,  defiant  though  willing,  lofty  though  humble, 
joyous  though  shy. 

Was  it  the  heat  from  the  lamps? — but  Mauville's 
brow  became  flushed ;  his  buoyancy  seemed  gross  and 
brutal ;  desire  lurked  in  his  lively  glances ;  Pan  gleamed 
from  the  curls  of  Hyperion ! 

The  play  jogged  on  its  blithesome  course  to  its 
wonted  end ;  the.  duke  delivered  the  excellent  homily, 

"A  gentle  wife 
Is  still  the  sterling  comfort  of  a  man's  life," 


64  THE    STROLLERS 

and  the  well-pleased  audience  were  preparing  to  leave 
when  Barnes,  in  a  drab  jacket  and  trunks,  trimmed 
with  green  ribbon  bows,  came  forward  like  the  clown 
in  the  circus  and  addressed  the  "good  people." 

"In  the  golden  age,"  said  the  father  of  Juliana, 
"great  men  treated  actors  like  servants,  and,  if  they 
offended,  their  ears  were  cut  off.  Are  we,  in  brave 
America,  returning  to  the  days  when  they  tossed  an 
actor  in  a  blanket  or  gave  a  poet  a  hiding?  Shall  we 
stifle  an  art  which  is  the  purest  inspiration  of 
Athenian  genius?  The  law  prohibits  our  performing 
and  charging  admission,  but  it  does  not  debar  us  from 
taking  a  collection,  if" — with  a  bow  in  which  dignity 
arrd  humility  were  admirably  mingled — "you  deem  the 
laborer  worthy  of  his  hire  ?" 

This  novel  epilogue  was  received  with  laughter  and 
applause,  but  the  audience,  although  good-natured, 
contained  its  proportion  of  timid  souls  who  retreat 
before  the  passing  plate.  The  rear  guard  began  to 
show  faint  signs  of  demoralization,  when  Mauville 
sprang  to  his  feet.  Pan  had  disappeared  behind  his 
leafy  covert ;  it  was  the  careless,  self-possessed  man  of 
the  world  who  arose. 

"I  am  not  concerned  about  the  ethics  of  art,"  he 
said  lightly,  "but  the  ladies  of  the  company  may  count 
me  among  their  devout  admirers.  I  am  sure,"  he 
added,  bowing  to  the  manager  with  ready  grace,  "if 
they  were  as  charming  in  the  old  days,  after  the  lords 
tossed  the  men,  they  made  love  to  the  women." 

"There  were  no  actresses  in  those  days,  sir,"  cor- 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES  65 

rected  Barnes,  resenting  the  flippancy  of  his  aristo- 
cratic auditor. 

"No  actresses?"  retorted  the  heir.  "Then  why  did 
people  go  to  the  theater?  However,  without  further 
argument,  let  me  be  the  first  contributor." 

"The  prodigal !"  said  the  doctor  in  an  aside  to  the 
landlord.  "He's  holding  up  a  piece  of  gold.  It's  the 
first  time  ever  patroon  was  a  spendthrift  1" 

^But  Mauville's  words,  on  the  whole,  furthered  the 
manager's  project,  and  the  audience  remained  in  its 
integrity,  while  Balthazar,  a  property  helmet  in  hand, 
descended  from  his  palace  and  trod  the  aisles  in  his 
drab  trunk-hose  and  purple  cloak,  a  royal  mendicant, 
in  whose  pot  soon  jingled  the  pieces  of  silver.  No 
one  shirked  his  admission  fee  and  some  even  gave 
in  excess ;  the  helmet  teemed  with  riches ;  once  it  had 
saved  broken  heads,  now  it  repaired  broken  fortunes, 
its  properties  magical,  like  the  armor  of  Pallas. 

"How  did  you  like  the  play,  Mr.  Saint-Prosper?" 
said  Barnes,  as  he  approached  that  person. 

"Much ;  and  as  for  the  players" — a  gleam  of  humor 
stealing  over  his  dark  features — "  'peerless'  was  not 
too  strong." 

"  'Your  approbation  likes  me  most,  my  lord,' " 
quoted  the  manager,  and  passed  quickly  on  with  his 
tin  pot,  in  a  futile  effort  to  evade  the  outstretched 
hand  of  his  whilom  helper. 

Thanking  the  audience  for  their  generosity  and  com- 
plimenting them  on  their  intelligence,  the  self-con- 
stituted lord  of  the  treasury  vanished  once  more  be- 


66  THE   STROLLERS 

hind  the  curtain.  The  orchestra  of  two  struck  up  a 
negro  melody;  the  audience  rose  again,  the  women 
lingering  to  exchange  their  last  innocent  gossip  about 
prayer-meeting,  or  about  the  minister  who  "knocked 
the  theologic  dust  from  the  pulpit  cushions  in  the  good 
old  orthodox  way,"  when  some  renegade  exclaimed: 
"Clear  the  room  for  a  dance !" 

Jerusha's  shawl  straightway  fell  from  her  shoulders ; 
Hannah's  bonnet  was  whipped  from  her  head;  Na- 
thaniel paused  on  his  way  to  the  stable  yard  to  bring 
out  the  team  and  a  score  of  willing  hands  obeyed  the 
injunction  amid  laughing  encouragement  from  the 
young  women  whose  feet  already  were  tapping  the 
floor  in  anticipation  of  the  Virginia  Reel,  Two  Sisters, 
Hull's  Victory,  or  even  the  waltz,  "lately  imported 
from  the  Rhine."  A  battered  Cremona  appeared  like 
magic  and 

"In  his  shirt  of  check  and  tallowed  hair 
The  fiddler  sat  in  his  bull-rush  chair," 

while  "  'Twas  Monnie  Musk  in  busy  feet  and  Monnie 
Musk  by  heart" — old-fashioned  "Monnie  Musk"  with 
"first  couple  join  right  hands  and  swing,"  "forward 
six"  and  "across  the  set" ;  an  honest  dance  for  country 
folk  that  only  left  regrets  when  it  came  to  "Good  Night 
for  aye  to  Monnie  Musk,"  although  followed  by  the 
singing  of  "Old  Hundred"  or  "Come,  ye  Sinners,  Poor 
and  Needy,"  on  the  homeward  journey. 

In  the  parlor  the  younger  Jlads  and  lasses  were  play- 
ing "snap  and  catch  'em"  ana  similar  games.  The 
portly  Dutch  clock  gazed  down  benignly  on  the 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES  67 

scene,  its  face  shining  good-humoredly  like  the  round 
visage  of  some  comfortable  burgher.  "Green  grow  the 
rushes,  O  !"  came  from  many  merry-makers.  "Kiss  her 
quick  and  let  her  go"  was  followed  by  scampering  of 
feet  and  laughter  which  implied  a  doubt  whether  the 
lad  had  obeyed  the  next  injunction,  "But  don't  you 
muss  her  ruffle,  O !"  Forming  a  moving  ring  around 
a  young  girl,  they  sang :  "There's  a  rose  in  the  garden 
foy  you,  young  man."  A  rose,  indeed,  or  a  rose-bud, 
rather,  with  ruffles  he  was  commanded  not  to  "muss," 
but  which,  nevertheless,  suffered  sadly ! 

Among  these  boys  and  girls,  the  patroon  discovered 
Constance,  no  longer  "to  the  life  a  duchess,"  with 
gown  in  keeping  with  the  "pride  and  pomp  of  exalted 
station,"  but  attired  in  the  simple  dress  of  lavender 
she  usually  wore,  though  the  roses  still  adorned  her 
hair.  Shunning  the  entrancing  waltz,  the  inspiring 
"Monnie  Musk"  and  the  cotillion,  lively  when  set  to 
Christy's  melodies,  she  had  sought  the  more  juvenile 
element,  and,  when  seen  by  the  land  baron,  was  cir- 
cling around  with  fluttering  skirts.  Joyous,  merry, 
there  was  no  hint  now  in  her  natural,  girlish  ways  of 
the  capacity  that  lay  within  for  varied  impersona- 
tions, from  the  lightness  of  coquetry  to  the  thrill  of 
tragedy. 

He  did  not  know  how  it  happened,  as  he  stood  there 
watching  her,  but  the  next  moment  he  was  imprisoned 
by  the  group  and  voices  were  singing : 

"There  he  stands,  the  booby ;  who  will  have  him  for 
his  beauty  ?" 


68  THE    STROLLERS 

Who  ?  His  eye  swept  the  group ;  the  merry,  scorn- 
ful glances  fixed  upon  him ;  the  joyous,  half-inviting 
glances ;  the  red  lips  parted  as  in  kindly  invitation ; 
shy  lips,  willing  lips ! 

Who  ?  His  look  kindled  ;  he  had  made  his  selection, 
and  the  next  moment  his  arm  was  impetuously  thrown 
around  the  actress's  waist. 

"Kiss  her  quick  and  let  her  go !" 

Amid  the  mad  confusion  he  strove  to  obey  the  com- 
mand, but  a  panting  voice  murmured  "no,  no  \"  a  pair 
of  dark  eyes  gazed  into  his  for  an  instant,  defiantly,  and 
the  pliant  waist  slipped  from  his  impassioned  grasp ;  his 
eager  lips,  instead  of  touching  that  glowing  cheek,  only 
grazed  a  curl  that  had  become  loosened,  and,  before 
he  could  repeat  the  attempt,  she  had  passed  from  his 
arms,  with  laughing  lips  and  eyes. 

"Play  fair!"  shouted  the  lads.  "He  should  'kiss 
her  quick  and  let  her  go.'  " 

"Oh,  he  let  her  go  first !"  said  the  others. 

"  'Kiss  her  quick/  "  reiterated  the  boys. 

"He  can't  now,"  answered  the  girls. 

The  voices  took  up  the  refrain :  "Don't  you  muss 
the  ruffles,  O !"  and  the  game  went  on.  The  old  clock 
gossiped  gleefully,  its  tongue  repeating  as  plainly  as 
words : 

"Let-her-go ! — ho ! — ho ! — one — two — three  I" 

Three  o'clock!  Admonishingly  rang  out  the  hour, 
the  jovial  face  of  the  clock  looking  sterner  than  was 
its  wont.  It  glowered  now  like  a  preacher  in  his  pul- 
pit upon  a  sinful  congregation.  Enough  of  "snatch- 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES  69 

and-catch'em ;''  enough  of  Hull's  Victory  or  the  Opera 
Reel ;  let  the  weary  fiddler  descend  from  his  bull-rush 
chair,  for  soon  the  touch  of  dawn  will  be  seen  in  the 
eastern  sky !  The  merry-making  began  to  wane  and 
already  the  sound  of  wagon-wheels  rattled  over  the 
log  road  away  from  the  tavern.  Yes,  they  were  sing- 
ing, and,  as  Hepsibeth  leaned  her  head  on  Josiah's 
shoulder,  they  uplifted  their  voices  in  the  good  old 
orthodox  hymn,  "Come,  Ye  Sinners,"  for  thus  they 
courted  and  worshiped  in  olden  times. 

"Good-night,  every  one !"  said  a  sweet  voice,  as  Con- 
stance passed  calmly  on,  with  not  a  ruffle  mussed. 

"Good-night,"  answered  the  patroon,  a  sparkle  in 
his  eyes.  "I  was  truly  a  booby." 

"What  can  you  mean?"  she  laughed. 

"There's  many  a  slip  'twixt — lip  and  lip !"  exclaimed 
Susan. 

With  heightened  color  the  young  girl  turned,  and 
as  she  did  so  her  look  rested  on  the  soldier.  His  glance 
was  cold,  almost  strange,  and,  meeting  it,  she  half- 
started  and  then  smiled,  slowly  mounting  the  stairs. 
He  looked  away,  but  the  patroon  never  took  his  eyes 
from  her  until  she  had  vanished.  Afar,  rising  and 
falling  on  the  clear  air,  sounded  the  voices  of  the 
singers : 

"Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow; 
Praise  Him  all  creatures  here  below;" 


70  THE    STROLLERS 

and  finally,  softer  and  softer,  until  the  melody  melted 
into  silence : 

"Praise  Him  above,  ye  Heavenly  H-o-s-t — " 

"One  good  turn  deserves  another,"  said  Barnes  to 
Saint-Prosper,  when  Susan  and  Kate  had  likewise  re- 
tired. "Follow  me,  sir — to  the  kitchen!  No  ques- 
tions ;  but  come !" 


CHAPTER  V 

A  CONFERENCE  IN  THE  KITCHEN 

A  keen  observer  might  have  noticed  that  the  door 
of  the  inn  kitchen  had  been  kept  swinging  to  and  fro 
as  certain  ones  in  the  audience  had  stolen  cautiously, 
but  repeatedly,  in  and  out  of  the  culinary  apartment 
while  the  dancing  and  other  festivities  were  in  prog- 
ress. The  itinerant  pedagogue  was  prominent  in 
these  mysterious  movements  which  possibly  accounted 
for  his  white  choker's  being  askew  and  his  disposition 
to  cut  a  dash,  not  by  declining  Greek  verbs,  but  by  in- 
clining too  amorously  toward  Miss  Abigail,  a  maiden 
lady  with  a  pronounced  aversion  for  frivolity. 

The  cause  of  the  schoolmaster's  frolicsome  deport- 
ment was  apparent  to  the  soldier  when  he  followed 
Barnes  into  the  kitchen,  where,  in  a  secluded  corner, 
near  the  hospitable  oven,  in  the  dim  light  of  a  tallow 
dip,  stood  a  steaming  punch  bowl.  A  log  smoldered 
in  the  fire-place,  casting  on  the  floor  the  long  shadows 
of  the  andirons,  while  a  swinging  pot  was  reflected  on 
the  ceiling  like  a  mighty  eclipse.  Numerous  recesses, 
containing  pans  and  plates  that  gleamed  by  day,  were 


72  THE    STROLLERS 

wrapped  in  vague  mystery.  Three  dark  figures 
around  the  bowl  suggested  a  scene  of  incantation,  es- 
pecially when  one  of  them  threw  some  bark  from  the 
walnut  log  on  the  coals  and  the  flames  sprang  up  as 
from  a  pine  knot  and  the  eclipse  danced  among  the 
rafters  overhead  while  the  pot  swung  to  and  fro. 

As  the  manager  approached  the  bowl,  the  trio, 
moved  by  some  vague  impelling  impulse,  locked  arms, 
walked  toward  the  side  door,  crossed  its  threshold  in 
some  confusion,  owing  to  a  unanimous  determination  to 
pass  out  at  one  and  the  same  time,  and  went  forth  into 
the  tranquil  night,  leaving  Barnes  and  Saint-Prosper 
the  sole  occupants  of  the  kitchen.  The  manager  now 
helped  himself  and  his  companion  to  the  beverage, 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  tiny  forks  of  flame  from 
the  shagbark.  His  face  expanded  with  good-fellow- 
ship ;  joviality  shone  from  his  eyes  beaming  upon  the 
soldier  whom  he  unconsciously  regarded  as  an  auxil- 
iary. 

"Here's  to  our  better  acquaintance,"  he  said,  placing 
his  hand  with  little  ceremony  on  the  other's  shoulder. 
"The  Bill- Poster !"  Raising  his  cup.  "You  gath- 
ered them  in — " 

"And  you  certainly  gathered  in  the  contents  of  their 
pockets !" 

"A  fair  robbery !"  laughed  Barnes,  "as  Dick  Turpin 
said  when  he  robbed  the  minister  who  robbed  the  king 
who  robbed  the  people !  A  happy  thought  that,  turn- 


A   CONFERENCE  73 

ing  the  helmet  into  a  collection  box !  It  tided  us  over ; 
it  tided  us  over  1" 

Saint-Prosper  returned  the  manager's  glance  in 
kind ;  Barnes'  candor  and  simplicity  were  apparent 
antidotes  to  the  other's  taciturnity  and  constraint.  Dur- 
ing the  country  dance  the  soldier  had  remained  a  pass- 
ive spectator,  displaying  little  interest  in  the  rustic 
merry-making  or  the  open  glances  cast  upon  him  by 
bonny  lasses,  burned  in  the  sunlit  fields,  buxom  serving 
maids,  as  clean  as  the  pans  in  the  kitchen,  and  hearty 
matrons,  not  averse  to  frisk  and  frolic  in  wholesome 
rural  fashion. 

But  now,  in  the  face  of  the  manager's  buoyancy  at 
the  success  of  a  mere  expedient — a  hopefulness  ill- 
warranted  by  his  short  purse  and  the  long  future  be- 
fore him  ! — the  young  man's  manner  changed  from  one 
of  indifference  to  friendliness,  if  not  sympathy,  for  the 
over-sanguine  custodian  of  players.  Would  the  hel- 
met, like  the  wonderful  pitcher,  replenish  itself  as  fast 
as  it  was  emptied  ?  Or  was  it  but  a  make-shift  ?  The 
manager's  next  remark  seemed  a  reply  to  these 
queries,  denoting  that  Barnes  himself,  although  tem- 
porarily elated,  was  not  oblivious  to  the  precarious 
character  of  "free  performances,"  with  voluntary  offer- 
ings. 

"What  we  need,"  continued  the  manager,  "is  a  tem- 
perance drama.  With  what  intemperate  eagerness 
would  the  people  flock  to  see  it !  But  where  is  it  to 
be  found?  Plays  don't  grow  on  bushes,  even  in  this 


74  THE    STROLLERS 

agricultural  district.  And  I  have  yet  to  discover  any 
dramatists  hereabouts,  unless" — jocularly — "you  are 
a  Tom  Taylor  or  a  Tom  Robertson  in  disguise.  Are 
you  sure  you  have  never  courted  the  divine  muse? 
Men  of  position  have  frequently  been  guilty  of  that 
folly,  sir." 

"But  once,"  answered  the  other  in  the  same  tone. 
"At  college ;  a  political  satire." 

"Was  it  successful  ?" 

"Quite  so — I  was  expelled  for  writing  it !" 

"Well,"  retorted  Barnes,  irrelevantly,  "you  have  at 
least  mildly  coquetted  with  the  muse.  Besides,  I  dare 
say,  you  have  been  behind  the  scenes  a  good  deal. 
The  green  room  is  a  fashionable  rendezvous.  Where 
are  you  going?  And  what — if  I  may  ask — is  your 
business  ?" 

"I  am  on  my  way  to  New  Orleans,"  said  the  traveler, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation.  "My  business,  fortune- 
getting.  In  sugar,  tobacco,  or  indigo-culture !" 

"New  Orleans !"  exclaimed  the  manager,  poising  the 
ladle  in  mid  air.  "That,  too,  is  our  destination.  We 
have  an  engagement  to  play  there.  Why  not  join  our 
band  ?  Write  or  adapt  a  play  for  us.  Make  a  temper- 
ance drama  of  your  play !" 

"You  are  a  whimsical  fellow,"  said  the  stranger, 
smiling.  "Why  don't  you  write  the  play  yourself  ?" 

"I?  An  unread,  illiterate  dotard!  Why,  I  never 
had  so  much  as  a  day's  schooling.  As  a  lad  I  slept 
with  the  rats,  held  horses,  swept  crossings  and  lived 
like  a  mudlark !  Me  write  a  play !  I  might  let  fall  a 


A   CONFERENCE  75 

suggestion  Here  and  there ;  how  to  set  a  flat,  or  where 
to  drop  a  fly ;  to  plan  an  entrance, '  or  to  arrange  an 
exit !  No,  no ;  let  the  shoemaker  stick  to  his  last !  It 
takes" — with  deference — "a  scholar  to  write  a  drama." 

"Thus  you  disqualify  me,"  laughed  the  other,  draw- 
ing out  a  pipe  which  he  filled,  and  lighted  with  a  coal 
held  in  the  iron  grip  of  the  antique  tongs.  "If  it  were 
only  to  help  plant  a  battery  or  stand  in  a  gap !"  he  said 
gyimly,  replacing  the  tongs  against  the  old  brick  oven 
at  one  side  of  the  grate.  "But  to  beset  King  Bacchus 
in  three  acts !  To  storm  his  castle  in  the  first ;  scale 
the  walls  in  the  second,  and  blow  up  all  the  king's 
horses  and  all  the  king's  men  in  the  last — that  is,  in- 
deed, serious  warfare !" 

"True,  it  will  be  a  roundabout  way  to  New  Orleans," 
continued  the  manager,  disregarding  his  companion's 
response,  "but  there  is  no  better  way  of  seeing  the  New 
World — that  is,  if  you  do  not  disdain  the  company  of 
strolling  players.  You  gain  in  knowledge  what  you 
lose  in  time.  If  you  are  a  philosopher,  you  can  study 
human  nature  through  the  buffoon  and  the  mummer. 
If  you  are  a  naturalist,  here  are  grand  forests  to  con- 
template, fi  you  are  not  a  recluse,  here  is  free,  though 
humble,  comradeship." 

His  listener  gazed  thoughtfully  into  the  fire.  Was 
the  prospect  of  sharing  this  gipsy-like  life  attractive 
to  him  ?  An  adventurer  himself,  was  he  drawn  toward 
these  homeless  strollers,  for  whom  the  illusions  of 
dramatic  art  shone  with  enticing  luster  in  the  compar- 
ative solitude  of  the  circuit  on  the  wilderness  ? 


76  THE   STROLLERS 

As  he  sat  before  the  glow,  the  light  of  the  burning 
shagbark,  playing  elfishly  above  the  dying  embers,  out- 
lined the  stalwart,  yet  active  figure  and  the  impenetra- 
ble, musing  features.  But  when,  with  an  upward 
shower  of  sparks,  the  backlog  fell  asunder  and  the 
waning  flame  cast  yet  more  gloomy  shadows  behind 
them,  he  leaned  back  in  his  heavy,  hewn  chair  and 
again  bent  an  attentive  look  upon  the  loquacious 
speaker. 

"Or,  if  you  desire,"  resumed  the  manager  after  some 
hesitation,  "it  might  become  a  business  venture  as  well 
as  a  pleasure  jaunt.  Here  is  a  sinking  ship.  Will 
the  salvage  warrant  helping  us  into  port ;  that  is,  New 
Orleans?  There  hope  tells  a  flattering  tale.  The 
company  is  well  equipped;  has  a  varied  repertoire, 
while  Constance" — tenderly — "is  a  host  in  herself. 
If  you  knew  her  as  I  do ;  had  watched  her  art  grow" 
— his  voice  trembled — "and  to  think,  sometimes  I  do 
not  know  where  the  next  day's  sustenance  may  come 
from !  That  she"— 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  gazing  at  his  companion  half- 
apologetically.  "We  players,  sir,"  he  resumed,  "pre- 
sent a  jovial  front,  but" — tapping  his  breast — "few 
know  what  is  going  on  here !" 

"Therein,"  said  the  younger  man,  emptying  his  pipe, 
"you  have  stated  a  universal  truth."  He  pushed  a 
smoldering  log  with  his  foot  toward  the  remnants  of 
the  embers.  "Suppose  I  were  so  minded  to  venture" 
— and  he  mentioned  a  modest  sum — "in  this  hazard 
and  we  patched  up  the  play  together  ?" 


A    CONFERENCE  77 

"You  don't  mean  it?"  cried  the  manager,  eagerly. 
Then  he  regarded  the  other  suspiciously :  "Your  pro- 
posal is  not  inspired  through  sympathy?" 

"Why  not  through  the  golden  prospects  you  have 
so  eloquently  depicted  ?"  replied  Saint-Prosper,  coldly. 

"Why  not  indeed !"  exclaimed  the  reassured  mana- 
ger. "Success  will  come ;  it  must  come.  You  have 
seen  Constance  but  once.  She  lives  in  every  charac- 
tesf  to  her  heart's  core.  How  does  she  do  it  ?  Who 
can  tell  ?  It's  inborn.  A  heritage  to  her !" 

His  voice  sank  low  with  emotion.  "Yes,"  he  mur- 
mured, shaking  his  head  thoughtfully,  as  though  an- 
other image  arose  in  his  mind ;  "a  heritage !  a  divine 
heritage!"  But  soon  he  looked  up.  "She's  a  brave 
girl !"  he  said.  "When  times  were  dark,  she  would 
always  smile  encouragingly,  and,  in  the  light  of  her 
clear  eyes,  I  felt  anew  the  Lord  would  temper  the 
wind  to  the  shorn  lamb/' 

"One — two — three — four,"  rang  the  great  clock 
through  the  silent  hall,  and,  at  its  harsh  clangor, 
Barnes  started. 

"Bless  my  soul,  the  maids'll  be  up  and  doing  and 
find  us  here !"  he  exclaimed.  "One  last  cup !  To  the 
success  of  the  temperance  drama !" 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  parted  for  their  re- 
spective chambers  and  only  the  landlord  was  left  down- 
stairs. Now  as  he  came  from  behind  the  bar,  where 
he  had  been  apparently  dozing  and  secretly  listening 
through  the  half-opened  door  leading  into  the  kitchen,  • 
he  had  much  difficulty  to  restrain  his  laughter. 


78  THE    STROLLERS 

"That's  a  good  one  to  tell  Ezekiel,"  he  muttered, 
turning  out  the  lights  and  sweeping  the  ashes  on  the 
hearth  to  the  back  of  the  grate.  "To  the  temperance 
drama !" 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE   DEPARTURE   OF   THE   CHARIOT 

4 

Down  the  hill,  facing  the  tavern,  the  shadows  of 
night  were  slowly  withdrawn,  ushering  in  the  day  of 
the  players'  leaving.  A  single  tree,  at  the  very  top, 
isolated  from  its  sylvan  neighbors,  was  bathed  in  the 
warm  sunshine,  receiving  the  earliest  benediction  of 
day.  Down,  down,  came  the  dark  shade,  pursued  by 
the  light,  until  the  entire  slope  of  the  hill  was  radiant 
and  the  sad  colored  foliage  flaunted  in  new-born 
gaiety. 

Returning  from  the  stable,  where  he  had  been  look- 
ing after  his  horse,  the  soldier  stood  for  a  moment  be- 
fore the  inn,  when  a  flower  fell  at  his  feet,  and,  glanc- 
ing over  his  shoulder,  he  perceived  Susan,  who  was 
leaning  from  her  window.  The  venturesome  rose, 
which  had  clambered  as  high  as  the  second  story,  was 
gone ;  plucked,  alas,  by  the  wayward  hand  of  a  co- 
quette. Saint-Prosper  bowed,  and  stooped  for  the 
aspiring  but  now  hapless  flower  which  lay  in  the  dust. 

"You  have  joined  the  chariot,  I  hear?"  said  Susan. 

"For  the  present,"  he  replied. 
(79) 


80  THE    STROLLERS 

"And  what  parts  will  you  play?"  she  continued, 
with  smiling  inquisitiveness. 

"None." 

"What  a  pity !  You  would  make  a  handsome  lover." 
Then  she  blushed.  "Lud!  What  am  I  saying?  Be- 
sides"— maliciously — "I  believe  you  have  eyes  for 
some  one  else.  But  remember," — shaking  her  finger 
and  with  a  coquettish  turn  of  the  head — "I  am  an  ac- 
tress and  therefore  vain.  I  must  have  the  best  part 
in  the  new  piece.  Don't  forget  that,,  or  I'll  not  travel 
in  the  same  chariot  with  you."  And  Susan  disap- 
peared. 

"Ah,  Kate,"  she  said,  a  momejit  later,  "what  a  fine- 
looking  young  man  he  is !" 

"Who?"  drawled  her  sister. 

"Mr.  Saint-Prosper,  of  course." 

"He  is  large  enough,"  retorted  Kate,  leisurely. 

"Large  enough !  O,  Kate,  what  a  phlegmatic  crea- 
ture you  are !" 

"Fudge !"  said  the  other  as  she  left  the  chamber. 

.Entering  the  tavern,  the  soldier  was  met  by  the  wiry 
old  lady  who  bobbed  into  the  breakfast  room  and  ex- 
plained the  kind  of  part  that  fitted  her  like  a  glove, 
her  prejudices  being  strong  against  modern  plays. 

"Give  me  dramas  like  'Oriana,'  'The  Rival  Queens' 
or  Webster's  pieces,"  she  exclaimed,  quoting  with 
much  fire  for  her  years  : 

"  'We  are  only  like  dead  walls  or  vaulted  graves!'  " 

"And  do  not  forget  the  'heavy'  in  your  piece !"  called 


THE   DEPARTURE  81 

out  Hawkes  acrqss  the  table.  "Something  you  can 
dig  your  teeth  in !" 

"Nor  the  'juvenile  lead/ "  chimed  in  the  Celtic 
Adonis. 

"Adonis  makes  a  great  hit  in  a  small  part,"  laughed 
Kate,  appearing  at  the  door.  "  'My  lord,  the  carriage 
is  waiting!'  " 

"My  lady,  your  tongue  is  too  sharp!"  exclaimed 
Adonis,  nettled. 

1  "And  put  in  a  love  scene  for  Adonis  and  myself," 
she  continued,  lazily  floating  into  the  room.  "He  is 
so  fond  of  me,  it  would  not  be  like  acting!" 

This  bantering  was  at  length  interrupted  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  chariot  and  the  property  wagon  at  the 
front  door,  ready  for  the  journey.  The  rumbling  of 
the  vehicles,  the  resounding  hoofs  and  the  resonant 
voice  of  the  stable  boy  awakened  the  young  lord  of  the 
manor  in  his  chamber  above.  He  stretched  himself 
sleepily,  swore  and  again  composed  himself  for  slum- 
ber, when  the  noise  of  a  property  trunk,  thumping  its 
way  down  the  front  stairs  a  step  at  a  time,  galvanized 
him  into  life  and  consciousness. 

"Has  the  world  come  to  an  end?"  he  muttered. 
"No ;  I  remember ;  it's  only  the  players  taking  their 
departure !" 

But,  although  he  spoke  carelessly,  the  bumping  of 
boxes  and  slamming  and  banging  of  portable  goods 
annoyed  him  more  than  he  would  confess.  With  the 
"crazy-quilt" — a  patch-work  of  heptagons  of  different 
hues  and  patterns — around  his  shoulders,  clothing  him 


82  THE    STROLLERS 

with  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  he  sat  up  in  bed, 
wincing  at  each  concussion. 

"I  might  as  well  get  up!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'll  see 
her  once  more — the  perverse  beauty !"  And  tossing 
the  kaleidoscopic  covering  viciously  from  him,  he 
began  to  dress. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  time  for  their  going  drew  near, 
mine  host  down-stairs  sped  the  parting  guest  with 
good  cheer,  having  fared  profitably  by  the  patronage 
the  players  had  brought  to  the  inn;  but  his  daughter, 
Arabella,  looked  sad  and  pensive.  How  weary,  flat 
and  stale  appeared  her  existence  now !  With  a  lump 
in  her  throat  and  a  pang  in  her  heart,  she  recklessly 
wiped  her  eyes  upon  the  best  parlor  curtains,  when 
Barnes  mounted  to  the  box,  as  robust  a  stage-driver 
as  ever  extricated  a  coach  from  a  quagmire.  The 
team,  playful  through  long  confinement,  tugged  at 
the  reins,  and  Sandy,  who  was  at  the  bits,  occasionally 
shot  through  space  like  an  erratic  meteor. 

The  manager  was  flourishing  his  whip  impatiently 
when  Constance  and  Susan  appeared,  the  former  in  a 
traveling  costume  of  blue  silk ;  a  paletot  of  dark  cloth, 
and,  after  the  fashion  of  the  day,  a  bonnet  of  satin  and 
velvet.  Susan  was  attired  in  a  jupe  sweeping  and 
immensely  full — to  be  in  style! — and  jacquette  with 
sleeves  of  the  pagoda  form.  The  party  seemed  in  high 
spirits,  as  from  his  dormer  window  Mauville,  adjust- 
ing his  attire,  peered  through  the  lattice  over  the  edge 
of  the  moss-grown  roof  and  leaf-clogged  gutters  and 
surveyed  their  preparations  for  departure.  How  well 


THE   DEPARTURE  83 

the  rich  color  of  her  gown  became  the  young  girl! 
He  had  told  himself  white  was  her  best  adornment, 
but  his  opinion  veered  on  the  moment  now,  and  he 
thought  he  had  never  seen  her  to  better  advantage, 
with  the  blue  of  her  dress  reappearing  in  the  lighter 
shade,  above  the  dark  paletot,  in  the  lining  of  the  bon- 
net and  the  bow  of  ribbons  beneath  her  chin. 

"On  my  word,  but  she  looks  handsome!"  muttered 
the  patroon.  "Might  sit  for  a  Gainsborough  or  a  Rey- 
nolds !  What  dignity !  What  coldness !  All  except 
the  eyes !  How  they  can  lighten !  But  there's  that 
adventurer  with  her,"  as  the  figure  of  the  soldier 
crossed  the  yard  to  the  property  wagon.  "No  get- 
ting rid  of  him  until  the  last  moment!"  And  he 
opened  the  shutters  wider,  listening  and  watching  more 
closely. 

"Are  you  going  to  ride  in  the  property  wagon  ?"  he 
heard  Saint-Prosper  ask. 

'"Yes ;  when  I  have  a  part  to  study  I  sometimes  retire 
to  the  stage  throne,"  she  answered  lightly.  "I  sup- 
pose you  will  ride  your  horse?" 

Of  his  reply  the  listener  caught  only  the  words, 
"wind-break"  and  "lame."  He  observed  the  soldier 
assist  her  to  the  throne,  and  then,  to  Mauville's  sur- 
prise, spring  into  the  wagon  himself. 

"Why,  the  fellow  is  going  with  them !"  exclaimed  the 
land  baron.  "Or,  at  any  rate,  he  is  going  with  her. 
What  can  it  mean  ?"  And  hurriedly  quitting  his  post, 
his  toilet  now  being  complete,  he  hastened  to  the  door 
and  quickly  made  his  way  down-stairs. 


84  THE    STROLLERS 

During-  the  past  week  his  own  addresses  had  mis- 
carried and  his  gallantry  had  been  love's  labor  lost. 
At  first  he  had  fancied  he  was  making  progress,  but 
soon  acknowledged  to  himself  he  had  underestimated 
the  enterprise.  Play  had  succeeded  play — he  could  not 
have  told  what  part  favored  her  most !  Ophelia  sighed 
and  died ;  Susan  danced  on  her  grave  between  acts, 
according  to  the  program,  and  turned  tears  into  smiles ; 
the  farewell  night  had  come  and  gone — and  yet 
Constance  had  made  no  sign  of  compliance  to  reward 
the  patient  wooer.  Now,  at  the  sight  of  these  prepara- 
tions for  departure,  and  the  presence  of  the  stalwart 
stranger  in  the .  property  wagon,  he  experienced  a 
sudden  sensation  of  pique,  almost  akin  to  jealousy. 

Stepping  from  the  tavern,  it  was  with  an  effort  he 
suppressed  his  chagrin  and  vexation  and  assumed  that 
air  of  nonchalance  which  became  him  well.  Smilingly, 
he  bade  Susan  and  the  other  occupants  of  the  chariot 
farewell,  shook  Barnes  by  the  hand,  and  turned  'to 
the  property  wagon. 

"The  noise  of  your  departure  awakened  me,"  he 
said  to  the  young  girl.  "So  I  have  come  to  claim  my 
compensation — the  pleasure  of  seeing  you — " 

"Depart!"  she  laughed  quickly. 

Momentarily  disconcerted,  he  turned  to  the  soldier. 
"You  ride  early." 

"As  you  see,"  returned  the  other,  immovably. 

"A  habit  contracted  in  the  army,  no  doubt!"  re- 
torted Mauville,  recovering  his  easy  self-possession. 
"Well,  a  bumping  trunk  is  as  efficacious  as  a  bugle 


THE   DEPARTURE  85 

call!  But  au  revoir,  Miss  Carew;  for  we  may  meet 
again.  The  world  is  broad — yet  its  highways  are 
narrow!  There  is  no  need  wishing  you  a  pleasant 
journey." 

His  glance  rested  on  Saint-Prosper  for  a  moment, 
but  told  nothing  beyond  the  slight  touch  of  irony  in 
his  words  and  then  shifting  to  the  young  girl,  it  lin- 
gered upon  each  detail  of  costume  and  outline  of  feat- 
ui^e.  Before  she  could  reply,  Barnes  cracked  his  whip, 
the  horses  sprang  forward,  and  the  stable  boy,  a  con- 
fused tangle  of  legs  and  arms,  was  shot  as  from  a  cata- 
pult among  the  sweet-williams.  The  abrupt  departure 
of  the  chariot  was  the  cue  for  the  property  wagon, 
which,  folio  wed  with  some  labor  and  jolting,  like  a  con- 
voy struggling  in  the  wake  of  a  pretentious  ship.  From 
the  door  Mauville  watched  it  until  it  reached  a  toll- 
gate,  passed  beneath  the  portcullis  and  disappeared 
into  the  broad  province  of  the  wilderness. 


CHAPTER    VII 

SOJOURNING     IN     ARCADIA 

Calm  and  still  was  the  morning;  the  wandering  air 
just  stirred  the  pendulous  branches  of  the  elms  and 
maples,  and,  in  the  clear  atmosphere,  the  russet  hills 
were  sharply  outlined.  As  they  swung  out  into  the 
road,  with  Hans,  the  musician,  at  the  reins,  the  young 
girl  removed  her  bonnet  and  leaned  back  in  the  chair 
of  state,  where  kings  had  fretted  and  queens  had 
lolled. 

The  throne,  imposing  on  the  stage,  now  appeared  but 
a  flimsy  article  of  furniture,  with  frayed  and  torn 
upholstering,  and  carving  which  had  long  since  lost 
its  gilded  magnificence.  Seated  amid  the  jumble  of 
theatrical  appliances  and  accoutrements — scenery, 
rolled  up  rug-fashion,  property  trunks,  stage  clock, 
lamps  and  draperies — she  accepted  the  situation  grace- 
fully, even  finding  nothing  strange  in  the  presence  of 
the  soldier.  New  faces  had  come  and  gore  in  the 
company  before,  and,  when  Barnes  had  complacently 
informed  her  Saint-Prosper  would  journey  with  the 
players  to  New  Orleans  in  a  semi-business  capacity, 

(86) 


SOJOURNING   IN    ARCADIA      87 

the  arrangement  appeared  conformable  to  precedent. 
The  manager's  satisfaction  augured  well  for  the  im- 
portance of  the  semi-business  role  assumed  by  the 
stranger,  and  Barnes'  friendliness  was  perhaps  in 
some  degree  unconsciously  reflected  in  her  manner; 
an  attitude  the  soldier's  own  reserve,  or  taciturnity, 
had  not  tended  to  dispel.  So,  his  being  in  the 
property  wagon  seemed  no  more  singular  than 
Hans'  occupancy  of  the  front  seat,  or  if  Adonis, 
Hawkes,  or  Susan  had  been  there  with  her.  She  was 
accustomed  to  free  and  easy  comradeship ;  indeed, 
knew  no  other  life,  and  it  was  only  assiduous  atten- 
tions, like  those  of  the  land  baron's,  that  startled  and 
disquieted  her. 

As  comfortably  as  might  be,  she  settled  back  in  the 
capacious,  threadbare  throne,  a  slender  figure  in  its 
depths — more  adapted  to  accommodate  a  corpulent 
Henry  VIII ! — and  smiled  gaily,  as  the  wagon,  in 
avoiding  one  rut,  ran  into  another  and  lurched  some- 
what violently.  Saint-Prosper,  lodged  on  a  neighbor- 
ing trunk,  quickly  extended  a  steadying  hand. 

"You  see  how  precarious  thrones  are !"  he  said. 

"There  isn't  room  for  it  to  more  than  totter,"  she  re- 
plied lightly,  removing  her  bonnet  and  lazily  swing- 
ing it  from  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

"Then  it's  safer  than  real  thrones,"  he  answered, 
watching  the  swaying  bonnet,  or  perhaps,  contrasting 
the  muscular,  bronzed  hand  he  had  placed  on  the  chair 
with  the  smooth,  white  one  which  held  the  blue  rib- 


88  THE    STROLLERS 

bons ;  a  small,  though  firm,  hand  to  grapple  with  the 
minotaur,  Life! 

She  slowly  wound  the  ribbons  around  her  fingers. 

"Oh,  you  mean  France,"  she  said,  and  he  looked 
away  with  sudden  disquietude.  "Poor  monarchs ! 
Their  road  is  rougher  than  this  one." 

"Rougher  truly !" 

"You  love  France  ?"  she  asked  suddenly,  after  study- 
ing, with  secret,  sidelong  glances  his  reserved,  im- 
penetrable face. 

His  gaze  returned  to  her — to  the  bonnet  now  resting 
in  her  lap — to  the  hand  beside  it. 

"It  is  my  native  land,"  he  replied. 

"Then  why  did  you  leave  it — in  its  trouble?"  she 
asked  impulsively. 

"Why?"  he  repeated,  regarding  her  keenly;  but  in 
a  moment  he  added :  "For  several  reasons.  I  re- 
turned from  Africa,  from  serving  under  Bugeaud,  to 
find  the  red  flag  waving  in  Paris ;  the  king  fled !" 

"Oh,"  she  said,  quickly,  "a  king  should — " 

"What?"  he  asked,  as  she  paused. 

"I  was  going  to  say  it  was  better  to  die  like  a  king 
than—" 

"Than  live  an  outcast!"  he  concluded  for  her,  a 
shadow  on  his  brow. 

She  nodded.  "At  any  rate,  that  is  the  way  they  al- 
ways do  in  the  plays,"  she  added  brightly.  "But  you 
were  saying  you  found  your  real  king  fled  ?" 

His  heavy  brows  contracted,  though  he  answered 
readily  enough :  "Yes,  the  king  had  fled.  A  kins- 


SOJOURNING   IN   ARCADIA      89 

man  in  whose  house  I  had  been  reared  then  bade  me 
head  a  movement  for  the  restoration  of  the  royal 
fugitive.  For  what  object?  The  regency  was  doomed. 
The  king,  a  May-fly !" 

"And  so  you  refused?" 

"We  quarreled ;  he  swore  like  a  Gascon.  His  little 
puppet  should  yet  sit  in  the  chair  where  Louis  XIV 
had  lorded  it !  I,  who  owed  my  commission  to  his  no- 
ble name,  was  a  republican,  a  deserter !  The  best  way 
out  of  the  difficulty  was  out  of  the  country.  First  it 
was  England,  then  it  was  here.  To-morrow — where  ?" 
he  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  half  to  himself. 

"Where?"  she  repeated,  lightly.  "That  is  our  case, 
too." 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  interest.  "Yours  is 
an  eventful  life,  Miss  Carew." 

"I  have  never  known  any  other,"  she  said,  simply, 
adding  after  a  pause:  "My  earliest  recollections 
are  associated  with  my  mother  and  the  stage.  As  a 
child  I  watched  her  from  the  wings.  I  remember  a 
grand  voice  and  majestic  presence.  When  the  au- 
dience broke  into  applause,  my  heart  throbbed  with 
pride." 

But  as  her  thoughts  reverted  to  times  past,  the 
touch  of  melancholy,  invoked  by  the  memory  of  her 
mother,  was  gradually  dispelled,  as  fancy  conjured 
other  scenes,  and  a  flickering  smile  hovered  over  the 
lips  whose  parting  displaced  that  graver  mood. 

"Once  or  twice  I  played  with  her,  too,"  she  added. 
"I  thought  it  nice  to  be  one  of  the  little  princes  in 


90 

Richard  III  and  wear  white  satin  clothes.  One  night 
after  the  play  an  old  gentleman  took  me  on  his  knee 
and  said:  'I  had  to  come,  my  child,  and  see  if  the 
wicked  old  uncle  hadn't  really  smothered  you !'  When 
he  had  gone,  my  mother  told  me  he  was  Mr.  Washing- 
ton Irving.  I  thought  him  very  kind,  for  he  brought 
me  a  bag  of  bonbons  from  the  coffee-room." 

"It's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of  a  great  critic 
laden  with  sweetmeats !"  said  the  soldier.  "And  were 
you  not  flattered  by  his  honeyed  regard?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  devoured  it  and  wanted  more,"  she 
laughed. 

Hans'  flourishing  whip  put  an  end  to  further  conver- 
sation. "Der  stage  goach !"  he  said,  turning  a  lump- 
ish countenance  upon  them  and  pointing  down  the 
road. 

Approaching  at  a  lively  gait  was  one  of  the  coaches 
of  the  regular  line,  a  vehicle  of  ancient  type,  hung  on 
bands  of  leather  and  curtained  with  painted  canvas, 
not  unlike  the  typical  French  diligence,  except  for  its 
absence  of  springs.  The  stage  was  spattered  with  mud 
from  roof  to  wheel-tire,  but  as  the  mire  was  not  fresh 
and  the  road  fair,  the  presumption  followed  that  cus- 
tom and  practice  precluded  the  cleaning  of  the  coach. 
The  passengers,  among  whom  were  several  ladies, 
wearing  coquettish  bonnets  with  ribbons  or  beau- 
catchers  attached,  were  too  weary  even  to  view  with 
wonder  the  odd-looking  theatrical  caravan.  Only  the 
driver,  a  diminutive  person  with  puckered  face  the 
color  of  dried  apples,  so  venerable  as  to  be  known  as 


SOJOURNING   IN    ARCADIA      91 

Old  Hundred,  seemed  as  spry  and  cheery  as  when  he 
started. 

"Morning,"  he  said,  briskly,  drawing  in  his  horses. 
"Come  back,  have  ye,  with  yer  troupe?  What's  the 
neuws  from  Alban-y?" 

"Nothing,  except  Texas  has  been  admitted  as  a 
State,"  answered  Barnes. 

"Sho !  We  air  coming  on !"  commented  the  Methu- 
selali  of  the  road. 

"Coming  on !"  groaned  a  voice  in  the  vehicle,  and  the 
florid  face  of  an  English  traveler  appeared  at  the  door. 
"I  say,  do  you  call  this  'coming  on !'  I'm  nearly  gone, 
don't  you  know !" 

"Hi!— ge'  long!— steady  there!"  And  Old  Hun- 
dred again  whipped  up  his  team,  precipitating  a  lady 
into  the  lap  of  the  gentleman  who  was  "nearly  gone," 
and  well-nigh  completing  his  annihilation. 

In  less  time  than  when  a  friendly  sail  is  lost  in  the 
mist,  Old  Hundred's  bulky  land-wherry  passed  from 
view,  and  the  soldier  again  turned  to  his  companion. 
But  she  was  now  intent  on  some  part  in  a  play 
which  she  was  quietly  studying  and  he  contented  him- 
self with  lighting  that  staple  luxury  of  the  early 
commonwealth,  a  Virginia  stogie,  observing  her  from 
time  to  time  over  the  glowing  end.  With  the  book 
upon  her  knee,  her  head  downcast  and  partly  turned 
from  him,  he  could,  nevertheless,  through  the  mazy 
convolutions  and  dreamy  spirals  of  the  Indian  weed, 
detect  the  changing  emotions  which  swept  over  her, 
as  in  fancy  she  assumed  a  role  in  the  drama.  Now  the 


92  THE    STROLLERS 

faintest  shadow  of  a  smile,  coming  and  going;  again 
beneath  the  curve  of  her  long  lashes,  a  softer  gleaming 
in  the  dark  eyes,  adding  new  charm  to  the  pale,  proud 
face.  Around  them  nature  seemed  fraught  with  for- 
getfulness ;  the  Libyan  peace  that  knows  not  where  or 
wherefore.  Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  ruts  and  fur- 
rows, Hans,  portly  as  a  carboy,  half-dozed  on  the 
front  seat. 

Shortly  before  noon  they  approached  an  ancient 
hostelry,  set  well  back  from  the  road.  To  the  mana- 
ger's dismay,  however,  the  door  was  locked  and  boards 
were  nailed  across  the  windows.  Even  the  water  pail, 
hospitably  placed  for  man  or  beast,  had  been  removed 
from  its  customary  proximity  to  the  wooden  pump. 
Abandoned  to  decay,  the  tenantless  inn  was  but 
another  evidence  of  traffic  diverted  from  the  old  stage 
roads  by  the  Erie  Canal  Company.  Cold  was  the  fire- 
place before  which  had  once  rested  the  sheep-skin 
slippers  for  the  guests;  empty  was  the  larder  where 
at  this  season  was  wont  to  be  game  in  abundance, 
sweet  corn,  luscious  melons — the  trophies  of  the  hunt, 
the  fruits  of  the  field ;  missing  the  neat,  compact  little 
keg  whose  spigot  had  run  with  consolation  for  the 
wanderer ! 

Confronted  by  the  deserted  house,  where  they  had 
expected  convivial  cheer,  there  was  no  alternative  but 
to  proceed,  and  their  journey  was  resumed  with  some 
discomfiture  to  the  occupants  of  the  coach  which  now 
labored  like  a  portly  Spanish  galleon,  struck  by  a 
squall.  They  had  advanced  in  this  manner  for 


93 

some  distance  through  furrow  and  groove,  when 
the  vehicle  gave  a  sharper  lurch  down  a  deeper  rut ; 
a  crash  was  followed  by  cries  of  affright  and  the  char- 
iot abruptly  settled  on  one  side.  Barnes  held  the 
plunging  horses  -in  control,  while  the  gentlemen  scram- 
bled to  the  ground  and  assisted  the  ladies  to  dismount. 

"Any  one  hurt?"  asked  the  manager  from  his  box. 

"No  damage  done — except  to  the  coach,"  said 
Hawkes. 

By  this  time  the  horses  had  become  quiet  and  Barnes, 
now  that  the  passengers  were  rescued,  like  a  good 
skipper,  left  the  quarter  deck. 

"We  couldn't  have  chosen  a  better  place  for  our 
lunch,"  he  remarked  philosophically.  "How  fortunate 
we  should  have  broken  down  where  we  did !" 

"Very  fortunate!"  echoed  the  old  lady  ironically. 

The  accident  had  happened  upon  a  slight  plateau,  of 
which  they  accordingly  took  possession,  tethering  the 
horses  to  graze.  From  the  branches  overhead  the 
squirrels  surveyed  them  as  if  asking  what  manner  of 
people  were  these,  and  the  busy  woodpecker  ceased  his 
drumming,  cocking  his  head  inquisitively  at  the  intru- 
ders; then  shyly  drew  away,  mounting  spirally  the 
trunk  of  the  tree  to  the  hole,  chiseled  by  his  'strong 
beak  for  a  nest.  As  Barnes  gazed  around  upon  the 
pleasing  prospect,  he  straightway  became  the  duke  in 
the  comedy  of  the  forest. 

"Ha,  my  brothers  in  exile,"  he  exclaimed,  "are  not 
these  woods  more  free  from  peril  than  the  envious 
court?" 


94  THE   STROLLERS 

"All  it  wants,"  said  the  tragedian,  hungrily,  "is  mut- 
ton, greens  and  a  foaming  pot." 

"I  can't  promise  the  foaming  pot,"  answered  the 
manager.  "But,  at  least,  we  have  a  well-filled  ham- 
per." 

Soon  the  coffee  was  simmering  and  such  viands  as 
they  had  brought  with  them — for  Barnes  was  a  far- 
sighted  and  provident  manager — were  spread  out  in 
tempting  profusion.  Near  them  a  swift-flowing 
stream  chattered  about  the  stones  like  one  of  nature's 
busiest  gossips ;  it  whispered  to  the  flowers,  murmured 
to  the  rushes  and  was  voluble  to  the  overhanging 
branch  that  dragged  upon  the  surface  of  the  water. 
The  flowers  on  its  brim  nodded,  the  rushes  waved  and 
the  branch  bent  as  if  in  assent  to  the  mad  gossip  of 
the  blithesome  brook.  And  it  seemed  as  though  all 
this  animated  conversation  was  caused  by  the  encamp- 
ment of  the  band  of  players  by  the  wayside. 

The  repast  finished,  they  turned  their  attention  to 
the  injured  chariot,  but  fortunately  the  damage  was 
not  beyond  repair,  and  Barnes,  actor,  manager,  bill- 
poster, license-procurer,  added  to  his  already  extensive 
repertoire  the  part  of  joiner  and  wheelwright.  The 
skilled  "artisans  in  coachmaking  and  coach-repairing 
might  not  have  regarded  the  manager  as  a  mas- 
ter-workman, but  the  fractured  parts  were  finally  set 
after  a  fashion.  By  that  time,  however,  the  sun  had 
sunk  to  rest  upon  a  pillow  of  clouds ;  the  squirrels,  law- 
abiding  citizens,  had  sought  their  homes;  the  wood- 
pecker had  vanished  in  his  snug  chamber,  and  only 


SOJOURNING   IN   ARCADIA      95 

forest  dwellers  of  nocturnal  habits  were  now  abroad, 
their  name  legion  like  the  gad-abouts  of  a  populous 
city. 

"There!"  exclaimed  the  manager,  surveying  his 
handiwork.  "The  'bus  is  ready!  But  there  is  little 
use  going  on  to-night.  I  am  not  sure  of  the  road 
and  here  is  a  likely  spot  to  pass  the  night." 

"Likely  to  be  devoured  by  wild  beasts,"  said  Kate, 
with  a  shudder. 

"I  am  sure  I  see  two  glistening  eyes!"  exclaimed 
Susan. 

"Fudge !"  observed  the  elastic  old  lady.  "That's 
the  first  time  you  have  been  afraid  of  two  glistening 
eyes." 

"There's  a  vast  difference  between  wolves  and  men," 
murmured  Susan. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  the  aged  cynic. 

But  as  the  light  of  day  was  withdrawn  a  great 
fire  sprang  up,  illumining  the  immediate  foreground. 
The  flames  were  cheering,  drawing  the  party  more 
closely  together.  Even  Hawkes  partly  discarded 
his  tragedy  face ;  the  old  lady  threw  a  bundle  of  fifty 
odd  years  from  her  shoulders  as  easily  as  a  wood-car- 
rier would  cast  aside  his  miserable  stack  of  fagots, 
while  Barnes  forgot  his  troubles  in  narrating  the  har- 
rowing experience  of  a  company  which  had  penetrated 
the  west  at  a  period  antedating  the  settlement  of  the 
Michigan  and  Ohio  boundary  dispute. 

The  soldier  alone  was  silent,  curiously  watching  the 
play  of  light  and  shade  on  the  faces  of  the  strollers, 


96  THE   STROLLERS 

his  gaze  resting  longest,  perhaps,  on  the  features  of 
the  young  girl.  Leaning  against  an  ancient  oak,  so 
old  the  heart  of  it  was  gone  and  it  towered  but  a 
mighty  shell,  the  slender  figure  of  the  actress  was 
clearly  outlined,  but  against  that  dark  and  roughly- 
furrowed  background  she  seemed  too  slight  and  deli- 
cate to  buffet  with  storms  and  hardships.  That  day's 
experience  was  a  forerunner  of  the  unexpected  in  this 
wandering  life,  but  another  time  the  mishap  might  not 
be  turned  to  diversion.  The  coach  would  not  always 
traverse  sunny  by-ways ;  the  dry  leaf  floating  from  the 
majestic  arm  of  the  oak,  the  sound  of  an  acorn  as  it 
struck  the  earth  presaged  days  less  halcyon  to  come. 

"How  do  you  enjoy  being  a  stroller?"  asked  a  voice, 
interrupting  the  soldier's  reverie.  "It  has  its  bitters 
and  its  sweets,  hasn't  it  ?  Especially  its  sweets !"  Su- 
san added,  glancing  meaningly  at  the  young  girl. 
"But  after  all,  it  doesn't  much  matter  what  happens  to 
you  if  you  are  in  good  company."  The  semi-gloom 
permitted  her  to  gaze  steadfastly  into  his  eyes.  He 
ignored  the  opportunity  for  a  compliment,  and  Susan 
stifled  a  little  yawn,  real  or  imaginary. 

"Positively  one  could  die  of  ennui  in  this  wilderness," 
she  continued.  "Do  you  know  you  are  a  welcome  ad- 
dition to  our  band  ?  But  you  will  have  to  make  your- 
self very  agreeable.  I  suppose" — archly — "you  were 
very  agreeable  in  the  property  wagon?" 

"Miss  Carew  had  a  part  to  study,"  he  returned, 
coldly. 

"A  part  to  study !"     In  mock  consternation,    "How 


SOJOURNING   IN   ARCADIA      97 

1  hate  studying  parts !  They  say  what  you  wouldn't, 
and  don't  say  what  you  would!  But  I'm  off  to  bed," 
rising  impatiently.  "I'm  getting  sleepy !" 

"Sleepy !"  echoed  Barnes.  "Take  your  choice !  The 
Hotel  du  Omnibus" — indicating  the  chariot — "or 
the  Villa  Italienne?" — with  a  gesture  toward  a  tent 
made  of  the  drop  curtain  upon  the  walls  of  which  was 
the  picture  of  an  Italian  scene. 

•c"The  chariot  for  me,"  answered  Susan.  "It  is  more 
high  and  dry  and  does  not  suggest  spiders  and  other 
crawling  things." 

"Good-night,  then,  and  remember  a  good  conscience 
makes  a  hard  bed  soft." 

"Then  I  shall  sleep  on  down.  I  haven't  had  a 
chance" — with  a  sigh — "to  damage  my  conscience 
lately.  But  when  I  strike  civilization  again" — and 
Susan  shook  her  head  eloquently  to  conclude  her  sen- 
tence. "Oh,  yes ;  if  beds  depend  on  conscience,  boughs 
would  be  feathers  for  me  to-night."  With  which  half- 
laughing,  half-defiant  conclusion,  Susan  tripped  to  the 
chariot,  pausing  a  moment,  however,  to  cast  a  reproach- 
ful glance  over  her  shoulder  at  Saint-Prosper  before 
vanishing  in  the  cavernous  depths  of  the  vehicle  of  the 
muses. 

Her  departure  was  the  signal  for  the  dispersing  of 
the  party  to  their  respective  couches.  Now  the  fire 
sank  lower,  the  stars  came  out  brighter  and  the  moon 
arose  and  traveled  majestically  up  the  heavens,  taking 
a  brief  but  comprehensive  survey  of  the  habitations 
of  mortals,  and  then,  as  if  satisfied  with  her  scrutiny, 
sailed  back  to  the  horizon  and  dropped  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

FLIPPING    THE     SHILLING 

Shortly  after  the  departure  of  the  strolling  players 
from  the  tavern,  Mauville  summoned  his  servant  and 
ordered  his  equipage.  While  waiting  he  strode  im- 
patiently to  and  fro  in  the  dining-room,  which,  disman- 
tled of  the  stage,  by  very  contrast  to  the  temporary 
temple  of  art,  turned  his  thoughts  to  the  players.  The 
barrenness  of  the  room  smote  him  acutely  with  the 
memory  of  those  performances,  and  he  laughed  iron- 
ically to  himself  that  he  should  thus  revert  to  them. 
But  as  he  scoffed  inwardly,  his  eyes  gleamed  with 
vivacity,  and  the  sensations  with  which  he  had  viewed 
the  young  girl  night  after  night  were  reawakened. 
What  was  one  woman  lost  to  him,  his  egotism  whis- 
pered ;  he  had  parted  from  many,  as  a  gourmand  leaves 
one  meal  for  another.  Yes ;  but  she  had  not  been  his, 
insinuated  vanity ;  another  had  whipped  her  off  before 
his  eyes. 

"Why  the  devil  didn't  you  tell  me  he  was  going  with 
them  ?"  he  demanded  of  the  landlord  while  settling  his 
account. 

(98) 


FLIPPING   THE   SHILLING      99 

"He — who?"  asked  the  surprised  innkeeper. 

"That  adventurer  you  have  been  harboring  here. 
How  far's  he  going  with  them  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  The  night  after  the  performance 
I  heard  the  manager  ask  him  to  join  the  company;  to 
write  a  temperance  play." 

"Temperance  play !"  sneered  Mauville.  "The  fool's 
gone  with  them  on  account  of  a  woman." 
^"1  did  think  he  was  mighty  attentive  to  one  of  the 
actresses,"  said  the  landlord,  reflectively.  "The  one 
with  them  melting  eyes.  Purty  good-looking!  Quiet 
and  lady-like,  too!  So  he's  gallivanting  after  her? 
Well,  well,  I  guess  actresses  be  all  alike." 

"I  guess  they  are,"  added  the  heir  savagely.  "And 
this  one  took  me  in,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "Hold- 
ing me  off  and  playing  with  him,  the  jade!"  Then 
he  continued  aloud:  "Where,  are  they  going?" 

"Didn't  hear  'em  say,"  answered  the  other,  "and  I 
didn't  like  to  appear  too  curious." 

"You  didn't?"  returned  Mauville,  ironically.  "You 
must  have  changed  lately." 

"I  don't  know  as  I  understand  you  quite,"  replied 
the  landlord  with  sudden  dignity.  "But  here's  your 
carriage  and  your  things  are  all  on.  I  guess  your  ten- 
ants will  be  glad  to  see  you,"  he  continued,  not  resist- 
ing a  parting  shot. 

"Curse  the  tenants !"  muttered  the  guest  in  ill-humor, 
as  he  strode  from  the  tavern  without  more  ado. 

He  was  soon  on  his  way,  partly  forgetting  his  vexa- 
tion in  new  anticipations,  and  traveling  with  spirit  to 


loo  THE   STROLLERS 

his  destination,  which  he  reached  late  that  afternoon. 
The  residence  of  the  old  patroons,  a  lordly  manor 
where  once  lavish  hospitality  had  been  displayed,  was 
approached  through  great  gates  of  hammered  iron  in 
which  the  family  arms  were  interwoven,  leading  into 
a  fine  avenue  of  trees.  The  branches  of  the  more 
majestic  met  overhead,  forming  a  sylvan  arch  that  al- 
most obscured  the  blue  sky  by  day  and  the  stars  by 
night.  Gazing  through  this  vista,  a  stately  portico 
appeared,  with  Corinthian  columns,  affording  an  invit- 
ing termination  of  the  view.  The  grounds  bore  evi- 
dence of  neglect  in  the  grass  growing  knee-high  and 
rank  with  weeds;  the  flower  beds  almost  obliterated; 
a  corn-crib  sunk  to  one  side  like  a  quadruped  gone 
weak-kneed ;  and  the  stream  that  struggled  vainly 
through  the  leaves  and  rubbish  barring  its  passage 
across  the  estate.  The  fence  resembled  the  "company 
front"  of  an  awkward  squad,  each  picket  being  more 
or  less  independent  of  its  neighbor,  with  here  and  there 
a  break  or  gap  in  the  ranks. 

Passing  through  the  leafy  archway  over  a  noiseless 
road  and  drawing  near  the  manor,  the  heir  could  see 
that  the  broad  windows,  with  their  quaint  squares  of 
glass,  were  unwashed,  the  portico  unswept  and  the 
brass  finishings  of  the  front  door  unpolished.  At  the 
right  of  the  steps  leading  to  the  portico,  moss-covered 
and  almost  concealed  by  a  rose-bush,  stood  a  huge 
block  of  granite  upon  which  rested  the  "lifting-stone," 
as  it  was  called,  of  one  of  the  early  masters.  This  not 
inconsiderable  weight  the  new  retainers  had  been  re- 


FLIPPING   THE    SHILLING     101 

quired  to  lift  in  days  of  old,  or  failing,  the  patroon 
would  have  none  of  their  services,  for  he  wanted  only 
lusty,  broad-backed  varlets  for  farmers  or — when  need 
were — soldiers. 

In  answer  to  repeated  summons  from  the  ponderous 
knocker,  shuffling  footsteps  were  finally  heard  within, 
the  door  was  opened  a  few  inches  and  the  gleaming 
t^eth  of  a  great,  gaunt  dog  were  thrust  into  the  open- 
ing, followed  by  an  ominous  growling.  Mauville 
sprang  back  a  step;  the  snarling  resolved  itself  into 
a  yelp,  as  some  one  unceremoniously  dragged  the  canine 
back ;  the  door  was  opened  wider  and  a  brawny  figure, 
smoking  a  long-stemmed  pipe,  barred  the  way.  The 
dog,  but  partly  appeased,  peered  from  behind  the 
man's  sturdy  legs,  awaiting  hostilities.  The  latter, 
an  imperturbable  Dutchman,  eyed  the  intruder  askance, 
smoking  as  impassively  in  his  face  as  one  of  his  ances- 
tors before  William  the  Testy.  From  his  point  of 
vantage  on  the  threshold  the  care-taker  looked  down 
upon  the  master  so  indifferently,  while  the  dog  glared 
so  viciously  that  the  land  baron  cried  angrily: 

"Why  the  devil  don't  you  get  out  of  the  way  and  call 
off  that  beast  ?" 

The  man  pondered.  "No  one  but  the  heir  would 
give  orders  like  that,"  he  said,  so  accustomed  to  speak- 
ing his  thoughts  in  the  solitude  of  the  great  rooms, 
that  he  gave  way  to  the  habit  now.  "This  must  be  the 
heir." 

Slowly  the  care-taker  moved  aside,  the  hound  shift- 
ing his  position  accordingly,  and  Mauville  entered, 


102  THE   STROLLERS 

gazing  around  with  some  interest,  for  the  interior  of 
the  manor  realized  the  pretensions  of  its  outward  as- 
pect. The  floor  of  the  hall  was  of  satinwood  and  rose- 
wood, and  the  mahogany  wainscoting,  extending  al- 
most to  the  ceiling,  was  black  with  age.  With  its  rich 
carvings,  the  stairway  suggested  woody  rioting  in 
balustrades  lifting  up  to  the  support  of  the  heavy 
beams  in  the  ceiling.  The  furnishings  were  in  keep- 
ing, but  dust  obscured  the  mirror-like  surface  of  the 
mahogany  tables,  the  heavy  draperies  were  in  need  of 
renovation,  while  a  housewife  would  have  viewed  with 
despair  the  condition  of  brass  and  ebony  inlaid  cabi- 
nets, ancient  tapestries,  and  pictures,  well-nigh  defaced, 
but  worthy,  even  in  their  faded  aspect,  of  the  brush  of 
Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  Benjamin  West  and  the  elder 
Peale. 

Having  casually  surveyed  his  new  home,  the  heir 
was  reminded  of  the  need  for  refreshment  after  his 
long  journey,  and,  turning  to  the  care-taker,  asked  him 
what  there  was  in  the  house?  The  servant  smoked 
silently  as  though  deeply  considering  this  momentous 
question,  while  the  rear  guard  maintained  unabated 
hostility  between  the  man's  firmly-planted  feet.  Then 
abruptly,  without  removing  his  pipe,  the  guardian  of 
the  manor  ejaculated: 

"Short-cakes  and  oly-koeks." 

The  other  laughed,  struck  his  knee  with  his  light 
cane  and  demanded  to  be  shown  to  the  library,  where 
he  would  have  these  outlandish  dishes  served. 

"And  bring  with  them,  Mynheer  Oly-koeks,  a  bot- 


FLIPPING   THE   SHILLING     103 

tie  of  wine,"  he  continued.  "At  the  same  time,  chain 
up  the  dog.  He  eyes  me  with  such  hungry  hostility 
that,  gad  !  I  believe  he's  an  anti-renter !" 

Mauville  was  ushered  into  a  large  room,  where  great 
leather-bound  volumes  filled  the  oak  shelves  to  the 
ceiling.  The  care-taker  turned,  and,  with  echoing  foot- 
steps, slowly  departed,  followed  by  his  faithful  four- 
footed  retainer.  It  is  true  the  latter  paused,  swung 
half-around  and  regarded  the  land-owner  with  the 
look  of  a  sulky  and  rebellious  tenant,  but,  summoned 
by  a  stern  "Oloffe !"  from  his  master,  the  dog  reluct- 
antly pattered  across  the  hard-wood  floor. 

In  surveying  his  surroundings,  the  land  baron's  at- 
tention was  attracted  by  a  coat-of-arms  deeply  carved 
in  the  massive  wood  of  the  book-case — on  a  saltire 
sable,  a  fleur-de-lys  or.  This  head  of  heraldic  flowers 
appeared  to  interest  Mauville,  who  smiled  grimly. 
"From  what  I  know  of  my  worthy  ancestors,"  he 
muttered,  "and  their  propensities  to  prey  on  their  fel- 
low-men, I  should  say  a  more  fitting  device  would  be 
that  of  Lovett  of  Astwell:  Gules,  three  wolves  pas- 
sant sable,  in  pale." 

Pleased  with  his  own  humor,  he  threw  himself  upon 
a  couch  near  the  window,  stretching  himself  luxu- 
riously. Soon  the  man  reappeared  with  the  refresh- 
ments and  a  bottle  of  old-fashioned,  substantial  girth, 
which  he  uncorked  with  marked  solicitude. 

"Where  are  the  oly-koeks?"  exclaimed  the  heir. 

The  watchman  pointed  to  a  great  dish  of  dark  blue 
willow-ware  pattern. 


104  THE   STROLLERS 

"Oh,  doughnuts !"  said  Mauville.  "You  know  where 
the  family  lawyer  lives?  Have  my  man  drive  you  to 
his  house  and  bring  him  here  at  once." 

As  the  care-taker  again  disappeared  the  heir  bent 
over  the  curidusly  shaped  bottle  in  delight,  for  when 
the  cork  was  drawn  a  fragrance  filled  the  musty  apart- 
ment as  from  a  bouquet. 

"Blessings  on  the  ancestor  who  laid  down  this 
wine!"  he  muttered.  "May  his  ghost  wander  in  to 
sniff  it !  These  oly-koeks  are  not  bad.  I  suppose  this 
man,  Ten  Breecheses,  or  whatever  he  is  called,  is  at 
once  cook  and  housekeeper.  Although  I  don't  think 
much  of  his  housekeeping,"  ruminated  Mauville,  as 
he  observed  a  herculean  spider  weaving  a  web  from 
an  old  volume  of  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  antiquary,  to 
the  classical  works  of  one  Joseph  of  Exeter.  There 
is  a  strong  sympathy  between  wine  and  cobwebs,  and 
Mauville  watched  with  increasing  interest  the  uses  to 
which  these  ponderous  tomes  had  sunk — but  serving 
the  bloodthirsty  purpose  of  the  nimble  architect,  evolv- 
ing its  delicate  engineering  problem  in  mid  air. 

A  great  blundering  fly  had  just  bobbed  into  the  net 
and  the  spider,  with  hideous,  carnivorous  zest,  was 
scrambling  for  it,  when  the  guardian  of  the  manor 
returned  with  the  family  solicitor,  a  little  man  who 
bore  in  his  arms  a  bundle  of  papers  which,  after  the 
customary  greetings,  he  spread  upon  the  table.  He 
helped  himself  to  a  glass  of  burgundy  and  proceeded 
forthwith  to  enter  into  the  history  of  his  trust. 

Mynheer,   the   patroon,   Mauville's   predecessor,   a 


FLIPPING   THE   SHILLING     105 

lonely,  arrogant  man,  had  held  tenaciously  to  the  im- 
mense tracts  of  land  acquired  in  the  colonial  days  by 
nominal  purchase.  He  had  never  married,  his  desire 
for  an  heir  being  discounted  by  his  aversion  for  the 
other  sex,  until  as  the  days  dragged  on,  he  found  him- 
self bed-ridden  and  childless  in  his  old  age.  Un- 
fortunately the  miser  can  not  take  his  acres  into  Para- 
dise, and  the  patroon,  with  many  an  inward  groan, 
cast  about  him  for  some  remote  relative  to  whom  he 
would  reluctantly  transfer  his  earthly  hereditaments. 
These  were  two:  one  a  man  of  piety,  who  prayed 
with  the  tenants  when  they  complained  of  their  lot ; 
the  other,  Mauville,  upon  whom  he  had  never  set 
eyes. 

When  the  earliest  patroons  had  made  known  to  the 
West  India  Company  their  intention  of  planting  colo- 
nies in  New  Netherland,  they  had  issued  attractive 
maps  to  promote  their  colonization  projects.  Among 
those  who  had  been  lured  to  America  by  these  enticing 
advertisements  was  an  ancestor  of  Edward  Mauville. 
Incurring  the  displeasure  of  the  governor  for  his  god- 
less views,  this  Frenchman  was  sent  to  the  pillory,  or 
whipping  post,  and  his  neighbors  were  about  to  cast 
out  the  devil  of  irreverence  in  good  old-fashioned 
manner,  when  one  of  Mynheer's  daughters  interceded, 
carried  off  the  handsome  miscreant,  and — such  was  her 
imperious  way ! — married  him  !  He  was  heard  in  after 
years  to  aver  that  the  whipping  would  have  been  the 
milder  punishment,  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  a  child  was 
born  unto  them  who  inherited  the  father's  adventure- 


106  THE   STROLLERS 

some  and  graceless  character,  deserted  his  home,  joined 
hands  with  some  ocean-rovers  and  sailed  for  that  pas- 
ture-ground of  buccaneers,  the  Caribbean  sea.  Of  his 
subsequent  history  various  stories  may  be  found  in  the 
chronicles  of  New  Orleans  and  Louisiana. 

The  only  other  person  who  might  have  any  pre- 
tensions to  the  estate  was  a  reverend  gentleman  who 
had  been  a  missionary  among  the  Indians,  preach- 
ing from  a  stump,  and  called  "Little  Thunder" 
by  the  red  men  because  of  his  powerful  voice ;  a  lineal 
descendant  of  the  Rev.  Doctor  Johannes  Vanderklonk, 
the  first  dominie  of  the  patroons,  who  served  for  one 
thousand  guilders,  payable  in  meat  or  drink,  twen- 
ty-two bushels  of  wheat  and  two  firkins  of  butter. 
He  saved  the  souls  of  the  savages,  while  the  white 
men  cheated  their  bodies.  Now  and  then,  in  those 
early  days,  the  children  of  the  forest  protested  against 
this  evangelizing  process  and  carried  off  the  good 
dominie  to  the  torture  stake,  where  they  plucked  out 
his  finger  nails ;  but  he  returned  with  as  much  zest  to 
his  task  of  landing  these  simple  souls  in  Paradise  as 
those  who  employed  him  displayed  in  making  an  earth- 
ly Paradise  out  of  the  lands  the  red  men  left  behind 
them. 

When  by  this  shrewd  system  the  savages  were 
gradually  saved,  and  incidentally  exterminated,  Little 
Thunder's  occupation  was  gone  and  he  became  a  pen- 
sioner of  Mynheer  the  Patroon,  earning  his  bread  by 
an  occasional  sermon  to  the  tenants,  exhorting  them 
to  thrift  and  industry,  to  be  faithful  and  multiply,  and 


FLIPPING   THE    SHILLING    107 

to  pay  their  rents  promptly.  As  Mynheer's  time  drew 
near  he  sent  for  his  attorney  and  commanded  him  to 
look  up  the  life,  deeds  and  character  of  Edward  Mau- 
ville. 

"This  I  did,"  said  the  lawyer,  "and  here  it  is." 
Waving  a  roll  of  papers  before  his  interested  listener. 

"A  nauseating  mess,  no  doubt,"  carelessly  remarked 
the  land  baron. 

<"Oh,  sir!"  deprecated  the  lawyer,  opening  the  roll. 
'  'Item :  Religion ;  pupil  of  the  brilliant  Jesuit,  Abbe 
Moneau.  Item :  JVIorals ;  Exhibit  A,  the  affair  with 
Countess in  Paris,  where  he  was  sent  to  be  edu- 
cated after  the  fashion  of  French  families  in  New 
Orleans  ;  Exhibit  B— '  " 

"Spare  me,"  exclaimed  Mauville.  "Life  is  weari- 
some enough,  but  a  biography — "  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "Come  to  your  point." 

"Of  course,  sir,  I  was  only  trying  to  carry  out  his 
instructions.  The  same,  sir,  as  I  would  carry  out 
yours !"  With  an  ingratiating  smile.  Whereupon  the 
attorney  told  how  he  had  furnished  the  patroon  this 
roll  and  fastened  it  to  his  bed,  so  that  he  might  wind  and 
unwind  it,  perusing  it  at  his  pleasure.  This  the  dying 
man  did,  sternly  noting  the  damaging  facts ;  thinking 
doubtlessly  how  traits  will  endure  for  generations — 
aye,  for  ages,  in  spite  of  the  pillory ! — the  while  Little 
Thunder  was  roaring  petitions  to  divinity  by  his  bed- 
side, as  though  to  bluster  and  bully  the  Almighty  into 
granting  his  supplications.  The  patroon  glanced  from 
his  pensioner  to  the  roll;  from  the  kneeling  man  to 


io8  THE   STROLLERS 

that  prodigious  list  of  peccadillos,  and  then  he  called 
for  a  shilling,  a  coin  still  somewhat  in  use  in  America. 
This  he  flipped  thrice. 

"Roue  or  sham,"  he  said  the  first  time. 

"Rake  or  hypocrite,"  he  exclaimed  the  second  time. 

"Devil  or  Pharisee,"  he  cried  the  third  time. 

He  peered  over  the  coin  and  sent  for  his  attorney. 
His  soul  passed  away,  mourned  by  Little  Thunder 
until  the  will  was  read,  when  his  lamentations  ceased ; 
he  soundly  berated  Mynheer,  the  Patroon,  in  his  coffin 
and  refused  to  go  to  his  burying.  Then  he  became  an 
ardent  anti-renter,  a  leader  of  "bolters,"  a  thunderer  of 
the  people's  cause,  the  devoted  enemy  of  land  barons 
in  general,  and  one  patroon  in  particular,  the  foreign 
heir  of  the  manor. 

"But  let  him  thunder  away,  sir,"  said  Scroggs, 
soothingly.  "The  estate's  yours  now,  for  the  old  pa- 
troon can't  come  back  to  change  his  mind.  He's 
buried  sure  enough  in  the  grove,  a  dark  and  sombrous 
spot  as  befitted  his  disposition,  but  restful  withal. 
Aye,  and  the  marble  slab's  above  him,  which  reminds 
me  that  only  a  month  before  he  took  to  his  bed  he  was 
smoking  his  pipe  on  the  porch,  when  his  glance  fell 
upon  the  lifting-stone.  Suddenly  he  strode  towards  it, 
bent  his  back  and  raised  it  a  full  two  inches.  'So  much 
for  age !'  said  he,  scoffing-like.  But  age  heard  him  and 
now  he  lies  with  a  stone  on  him  he  can  not  lift,  while 
you,  sir" — to  his  listener,  deferentially — "are  sole  heir 
to  the  estate  and  to  the  feud." 


FLIPPING   THE   SHILLING    109 

"A  feud  goes  with  the  property?"  remarked  Mau- 
ville  carelessly. 

"The.  tenants  object  to  paying  rent/'  replied  Scroggs, 
sadly.  "They're  a  sorry  lot!" 

"Evade  their  debts,  do  they?"  said  the  land  baron 
languidly.  "What  presumption  to  imitate  their  bet- 
ters !  That  won't  do ;  I  need  the  money." 

"They  claim  the  rights  of  the  landlord  originated  in 
fraud—" 

"No  doubt!"  Yawning.  "My  ancestors  were 
rogues !" 

"Oh,  sir" — deprecatorily. 

"If  the  tenants  don't  pay,  turn  them  out/'  interrupted 
Mauville,  listlessly,  "if  you  have  to  depopulate  the 
country." 

Having  come  to  an  understanding  with  his  client, 
the  lawyer  arose  to  take  his  departure. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  obsequiously,  selecting  a  yel- 
low, well-worn  bit  of  paper  from  his  bundle  of  docu- 
ments, "it  may  interest  you  to  keep  this  yourself.  It 
is  the  original  deed  for  all  these  lands  from  the  squaw 
Pewasch.  You  can  see  they  were  acquired  for  a  few 
shillings'  worth  of  'wet  and  dry  goods'  and  seventeen 
and  a  half  ells  of  duffels." 

"The  old  patroons  could  strike  a  rare  bargain,"  mut- 
tered the  heir,  as  he  casually  surveyed  the  ancient 
deed,  and  then,  folding  it,  placed  it  in  his  breast  pocket. 
"For  a  mere  song  was  acquired — " 

"A  vast  principality,"  added  the  solicitor,  waving  his 
hand  toward  the  fields  and  meadows  far  in  the  distance. 


CHAPTER    IX 

SAMPLING     THE     VINTAGES 

Having  started  the  wheels  of  justice  fairly  moving, 
with  Scroggs  at  the  throttle,  the  new  land  baron  soon 
discovered  that  he  was  not  in  consonance  with  the 
great  commoner  who  said  he  was  savage  enough  to 
prefer  the  woods  and  wilds  of  Monticello  to  all  the 
pleasures  of  Paris.  In  other  words,  those  rural  de- 
lights of  his  forefathers,  the  pleasures  of  a  closer  inti- 
macy with  nature,  awoke  no  responsive  chord  in  Mau- 
ville's  breast,  and  he  began  to  tire  before  long  of  a 
patriarchal  existence  and  crullers  and  oly-koeks  and 
playing  the  fine  lord  in  solitary  grandeur. 

The  very  extent  of  the  deserted  manor  carried  an 
overwhelming  sense  of  loneliness,  especially  at  this 
season  when  nature  was  dying  and  triumphal  tints  of 
decay  were  replacing  the  vernal  freshness  of  the  for- 
ests, flaunting  gaudy  vestments  that  could  not,  how- 
ever, conceal  the  sadness  of  the  transition.  The  days 
were  growing  shorter  and  the  leaden-colored  vapors, 
driven  by  the  whip  of  that  taskmaster,  the  wind,  re- 
placed the  snow-white  clouds  becalmed  in  the  tender 
(no) 


depths  of  ether.  Soon  would  the  hoar  frost  crystal- 
lize on  grass  and  fence,  or  the  autumn  rains  de- 
scend, dripping  mournfully  from  the  water  spouts 
and  bubbling  over  the  tubs.  Already  the  character  of 
the  dawn  was  changed  to  an  almost  sullen  awakening 
of  the  day,  denoting  a  seeming  uneasiness  of  the  hid- 
den forces,  while  an  angry  passing  of  the  glowing  orb 
replaced  the  Paphian  sunset. 

In  nook  and  cranny,  through  the  balustrades  and 
woody  screens  of  the  ancient  house,  penetrated  the 
wandering  currents  of  air.  The  draperies  waved  mys- 
teriously, as  by  a  hidden  hand,  and,  at  nightfall,  the 
floor  of  satin  and  rosewood  creaked  ominously  as  if  be- 
neath the  restless  footsteps  of  former  inmates,  moving 
from  the  somber  hangings  of  the  windows  to  the  pearl- 
inlaid  harpsichord  whose  melody  was  gone,  and  thence 
up  the  broad  stair-case,  pausing  naturally  at  the  land- 
ing, beneath  which  had  assembled  gay  gatherings  in 
the  colonial  days.  And  such  a  heedless  phantom 
group — fine  gentlemen  in  embroidered  coats,  bright 
breeches,  silk  stockings  and  peruke,  and,  peeping 
through  ethereal  lace  wristbands,  a  white  hand  fit  for 
no  sterner  toil  than  to  flourish  with  airy  grace  a  gold- 
headed  cane ;  ladies  with  gleaming  bare  shoulders, 
dressed  in  "cumbrous  silk  that  with  its  rustling  made 
proud  the  flesh  that  bore  it !"  The  imaginative  listener 
could  almost  distinguish  these  footfalls,  as  the  blind 
will  recognize  the  tread  of  an  unseen  person. 

To  further  add  to  the  land  baron's  dissatisfaction; 
over  his  heritage,  "rent-day" — that  all-important  day  in 


ii2  THE    STROLLERS 

the  olden  times;  when  my  lord's  door  had  been  be- 
sieged by  the  willing  lease-holders,  cheerful  in  render- 
ing unto  Caesar  what  was  due  Caesar ! — seemed  to  have 
been  dropped  from  the  modern  calendar,  as  many  an 
ancient  holiday  has  gradually  been  lost  in  the  whirligig 
of  time.  No  long  procession  now  awaited  the  pa- 
troon's  pleasure,  when  it  should  suit  him  to  receive 
the  tribute  of  guilders,  corn  or  meal;  the  day  might 
have  been  as  obsolete  as  an  Hellenic  festival  day  to 
Zeus,  for  all  the  observance  it  was  accorded. 

"Your  notices,  Scroggs,  were  wasted  on  the  desert 
air,"  said  the  patroon,  grimly,  to  that  disappointed 
worthy.  "What's  the  use  of  tenants  who  don't  pay? 
Playing  at  feudal  lord  in  modern  times  is  a  farce, 
Scroggs.  I  wish  we  had  lived  about  four  hundred 
years  ago." 

"Yes, if  four  hundred  years  ago  were  now,"  assent- 
ed the  parasite,  '-'  I'd  begin  with  Dick,  the  tollman  ! 
He's  a  regular  Goliath  and," — his  face  becoming 
purple — "when  I  threatened  him  with  the  law,  threw 
me  out  of  the  barn  on  an  obnoxious  heap  of  refuse. " 

"You  weren't  exactly  a  David,  then?"  laughed 
the  patroon,  in  spite  of  his  bad  humor. 

"I'll  throw  the  stone  yet,"  said  the  little  man,  vi- 
ciously showinghisyellowteeth.  "The  law'sthe  sling." 

That  evening,  when  the  broad  meadows  were  in- 
undated by  the  shadow  of  the  forest  that  crept  over  it 
like  an  incoming  tide,  the  land  baron  ordered  lights 
for  every  room.  The  manor  shone  in  isolated  gran- 
deur amid  the  gloomy  fields,  with  the  forest-wall 


SAMPLING   THE   VINTAGES    113 

around  it ;  radiant  as  of  old,  when  strains  of  music  had 
been  heard  within  and  many  figures  passed  the  win- 
dows. But  now  there  was  light,  and  not  life,  and  a  sol- 
itary anti-renter  on  the  lonely  road  regarded  with  sur- 
prise the  unusual  illumination. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  asked  Little  Thunder — for 
it  was  he — waiting  and  watching,  as  without  the  gates 
of  Paradise. 

Well  might  he  ask,  for  the  late  Mynheer,  the  Pa- 
troon,  had  been  a  veritable  bat  for  darkness;  a  few 
candles  answered  his  purpose  in  the  spacious  rooms ; 
he  played  the  prowler,  not  the  grand  lord;  a  recluse 
who  hovered  over  his  wine  butts  in  the  cellar  and  gloat- 
ed over  them,  while  he  touched  them  not;  a  hermit 
who  lived  half  his  time  in  the  kitchen,  bending  over 
the  smoky  fire-place,  and  not  a  lavender-scented  gentle- 
man who  aired  himself  in  the  drawing-room,  a  fine 
fop  with  nothing  but  the  mirrors  to  pay  him  homage. 
Little  Thunder,  standing  with  folded  arms  in  the  dark 
road,  gloomy  as  Lucifer,  almost  expected  to.  see  the 
brilliant  fabric  vanish  like  one  of  those  palaces  of  joy 
built  by  the  poets. 

Hour  after  hour  passed,  midnight  had  come  and 
gone,  and  still  the  lights  glowed.  Seated  in  the  library, 
with  the  curtains  drawn,  were  the  land  baron  and 
Scroggs,  a  surveyor's  map  between  them  and  a  dozen 
bottles  around  them.  Before  Mauville  stood  several 
glasses,  containing  wines  of  various  vintages  which 
the  land  baron  compared  and  sipped,  held  to  the  light 
and  inhaled  after  the  manner  of  a  connoisseur  sampling 


ii4  THE   STROLLERS 

a  cellar.  He  was  unduly  dignified  and  stately,  but  the 
attorney  appeared  decidedly  groggy.  The  latter's  ideas 
clashed  against  one  another  like  pebbles  in  a  child's 
rattle,  and,  if  the  round  table  may  be  supposed  to  rep- 
resent the  earth,  as  the  ancient  geographers  imagined 
it,  Scrogg's  face  was  surely  the  glowing  moon  shining 
upon  it. 

Readily  had  the  attorney  lent  himself  to  the  new 
order  of  procedure.  With  him  it  was:  "The  king 
is  dead !  Long  live  the  king !"  He,  who  had  found 
but  poor  pickings  under  the  former  master — dry  crust 
fees  for  pleadings,  demurrers  or  rejoinders — now  an- 
ticipated generous  booty  and  spoil.  Alert  for  such 
crumbs  as  might  fall  from  a  bountiful  table ;  keen 
of  scent  for  scraps  and  bits,  but  capable  of  a  mighty 
mouthful,  he  paid  a  courtier's  price  for  it  all ;  wheed- 
ling, pandering,  ready  for  any  service,  ripe  for  any 
revelry.  With  an  adulator's  tact,  he  still  strove  stren- 
uously to  hold  the  thread  of  his  companion's  conver- 
sation, as  Mauville  said: 

"Too  old,  Scroggs  ;  too  old !"  Setting  down  a  glass 
of  burgundy  in  which  fine  particles  floated  through  the 
magenta-hued  liquid.  "It  has  lost  its  luster,  like  a 
woman's  eyes  when  she  has  passed  the  meridian.  Good 
wine,  like  a  woman,  has  its  life.  First,  sweetly  inno- 
cent, delicately  palatable,  its  blush  like  a  maiden  of 
sixteen ;  then  glowing  with  a  riper  development,  more 
passionate  in  hue,  a  siren  vintage ;  finally,  thin,  waning 
and  watery,  with  only  memories  of  the  deeper,  rosy- 
hued  days.  Now  here,  my  good,  but  muddled  friend, 


SAMPLING   THE   VINTAGES    115 

is  your  youthful  maiden !"  Holding  toward  the  lamp 
a  glass,  clear  as  crystal,  with  luster  like  a  gem.  "Danc- 
ing eyes ;  a  figure  upright  as  a  reed ;  the  bearing  of  a 
nymph ;  the  soul  of  a  water  lily  before  it  has  opened 
its  leaves  to  the  wooing  moonlight !" 

"Lord !  How  you  go  on !"  exclaimed  Scroggs. 
"What  with  a  sampling  this  and  sampling  that,  my 
head's  going  round  like  a  top.  If  there's  anything  in 
the  cellar  the  old  patroons  put  down  we  haven't  tried, 
sir,  I  beg  to  defer  the  sampling.  I  am  of  the  sage's 
mind — 'Of  all  men  who  take  wine,  the  moderate  only 
enjoy  it/  says  Master  Bacon,  or  some  one  else." 

"Pass  the  bottle!"  answered  the  other.  "Gently, 
man !  Don't  disturb  its  repose,  and  remember  it  dis- 
dains the  perpendicular." 

"So  will  I  soon,"  muttered  Scroggs.  "I  hope  you'll 
excuse  me,  sir,  but  that  last  drop  of  Veuve  Cliquot  was 
the  whip-cord  that  started  the  top  going,  and,  on  my 
word" — raising  his  hands  to  his  head — "I  feel  like 
holding  it  on  to  keep  it  from  spinning  off." 

"Spinning  or  not,  you  shall  try  this  vintage" — the 
young  man's  eyes  gleamed  with  such  fire  as  shone  in 
the  glass — "and  drink  to  Constance  Carew !" 

"Constance  Carew!"  stammered  the  other,  desper- 
ately swallowing  the  toast. 

Mauville  slowly  emptied  the  glass.  "A  balsamic 
taste,  slightly  piquant  but  agreeable,"  he  observed. 
"A  dangerous  wine,  Scroggs !  It  carries  no  warning ; 
your  older  kind  is  like  a  world-worn  coquette  whose 
glances  at  once  place  you  on  the  defensive.  This 


n6  THE   STROLLERS 

maiden  vintage,  just  springing  into  glorious  woman- 
hood, comes  over  you  like  a  spring-time  dream." 

"Who — who  is  she?"  muttered  Scroggs. 

"She  is  not  in  the  scroll  you  prepared  for  my 
lamented  kinsman,  eh?  They  are,  for  the  most  part, 
deep  red,  dark  scarlet — that  list  of  fair  dames!  She 
doesn't  belong  to  them — yet !  No  title,  man  ;  not  even 
a  society  lady.  A  stroller,  which  is  next  door  to  a 
vagrant." 

"Well,  sir,  she's  a  woman  and  that's  enough,"  re- 
plied the  lawyer.  "And  my  opinion  is,  it's  better  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  'em." 

This  sententious  remark  seemed  to  arouse  Scroggs 
to  momentary  vivacity. 

"Now  there  was  my  Lord  Hamerton,  whose  pict- 
ure is  up-stairs,"  he  went  on  quickly,  like  a  man  who 
is  bent  on  grasping  certain  ideas  before  they  escape 
him.  "He  brought  a  beautiful  woman  here — carried 
her  off,  they  say  from  England — and  installed  her  as 
mistress  of  the  manor.  I  have  heard  my  father  say 
that  his  great-grandfather,  who  was  my  lord's  solicitor, 
said  that  before  his  death  my  lord  desired  to  make  her 
his  wife,  having  been  brought  to  a  sense  of  the  sinful 
life  he  had  led  by  a  Puritan  preacher.  But  at  that, 
this  woman  straightened  herself  up,  surveyed  him  with 
scorn,  and,  laughing  like  a  witch,  answered :  'They 
say  marriages  are  made  in  heaven,  my  lord — and  you 
are  the  devil!'  So  my  lord  died  without  having 
atoned,  and,  as  for  my  lady  who  refused  to  become  an 


SAMPLING   THE   VINTAGES    117 

honest  woman,  I  am  sure  she  was  damned !"  concluded 
Scroggs  triumphantly. 

"No  doubt!  So  this  wicked  lord  abducted  her, 
Scroggs?"  he  added  thoughtfully.  "A  man  of  spirit, 
until  the  Puritans  got  after  him  and  showed  him  the 
burning  pit  and  frightened  him  to  that  virtue  which 
was  foreign  to  his  inclinations.  My  lady  was  right  in 
refusing  to  honor  such  a  paltry  scoundrel  with  her 
hand.  But  it  takes  courage,  Scroggs,  to  face  ever- 
lasting damnation." 

"They  say,  too,  there  was  a  spice  of  revenge  about 
her  unwillingness  to  give  her  hand  to  my  lord,"  re- 
sumed the  narrator,  unmindful  of  the  interruption. 
"This  Puritan  father  said  nothing  but  marriage  with 
her  would  save  Hamerton  from  the  sulphurous  flames 
and  so  my  lady  refused  to  sanctify  their  relations  and 
rescue  her  lord  from  perdition !" 

"A  pleasant  revenge !"  laughed  the  land  baron.  "He 
made  life  a  hell  for  her  and  she  gave  him  an  eternity 
of  it.  But  take  a  little  of  this  white  wine,  man.  We've 
drunk  to  the  roses  of  desire,  and  now  should  drink  to 
the  sanctified  lilies.  Her  neck,  Scroggs,  is  like  a  lily, 
and  her  hand  and  her  brow !  Beneath  that  whiteness, 
her  eyes  shine  with  a  tenderness  inviting  rays  of  pas- 
sion to  kindle  them.  Drink !" 

But  the  other  gave  a  sudden  lurch  forward.  "My 
lady — refused — perdition  !"  he  muttered,  and  his  head 
dropped  to  the  board. 

"Wake  up,  man,  and  drink!"  commanded  the  mas- 
ter. 


ii8  THE    STROLLERS 

"Jush  same — they  ought  to  have  been  married,"  said 
his  companion  drowsily.  "They  lived  together  so — so 
ill !"  And  then  to  place  himself  beyond  reach  of  fur- 
ther temptation  from  the  bottle,  he  quietly  and  natu- 
rally slid  under  the  table. 

The  patroon  arose,  strode  to  the  window,  which  he 
lifted,  and  the  night  air  entered,  fanning  his  hot  brow. 
The  leaves,  on  high,  rustled  like  falling  rain.  The 
elms  tossed  their  branches,  striking  one  another  in 
blind  confusion.  The  long  grass  whispered  as  the 
breeze  stirred  it  like  the  surface  of  an  inland  lake. 
Withering  flowers  gave  up  their  last  perfume,  while 
a  storm-cloud  fled  wildly  across  the  heavens.  Some 
of  the  restlessness  of  the  external  world  disturbed  that 
silent  dark  figure  at  the  window ;  within  him,  conflict- 
ing passions  jarred  like  the  boughs  of  the  trees  and 
his  fancies  surged  like  the  eddying  leaves. 

"The  roses  of  desire — the  sanctified  lilies !"  he  mut- 
tered. 

As  he  stood  there  the  stars  grew  pale ;  the  sky  trem- 
bled and  quivered  before  the  advent  of  morn.  A 
heavy  footstep  fell  behind  him,  and,  turning,  he  be- 
held the  care-taker. 

"Not  in  bed  yet,  Oly-koeks?"  cheerfully  said  the 
land  baron. 

"I  am  just  up." 

"In  that  case,  it  is  time  for  me  to  retire,"  returned 
the  master,  with  a  yawn.  "This  is  a  dull  place,  Oly- 
koeks  ;  no  life ;  no  variety.  Nothing  going  on !" 

The  servant  glanced  at  the  formidable  array  of  bot- 


SAMPLING   THE   VINTAGES      119 

ties.  "And  he  calls  this  a  quiet  life!"  thought  the 
care-taker,  losing  his  impassiveness  and  viewing  the 
table  with  round-eyed  wonder. 

"Nothing  going  on?"  he  said  aloud.  "Mynheer, 
the  Patroon,  complained  of  too  much  life  here,  with 
people  taking  farms  all  around.  But,  if  you  are  dull, 
a  farmer  told  me  last  night  there  was  a  company  of 
strolling  players  in  Vanderdonkville — " 

"Strollers !"  exclaimed  Mauville,  wheeling  around. 
"What  are  they  called  ?" 

"Lord ;  I  don't  know,  sir.  They're  show-folks,  and 
that's  all—" 

"Do  many  strolling  players  come  this  way  ?" 

"Not  for  weeks  and  months,  sometimes !  The  old 
patroon  ordered  the  schout  to  arrest  them  if  they  en- 
tered the  wyck." 

"Is  Vanderdonkville  in  the  wyck?"  asked  the  land 
baron  quickly. 

"No.  It  was  separated  from  the  wyck  when  Rickert 
Jacobus  married — " 

"Never  mind  the  family  genealogy!  Have  the 
coach  ready  at  nine — " 

"To-night?" 

"This  morning,"  replied  Mauville,  lightly.  "And, 
meanwhile,  put  this  to  bed,"  indicating  Scroggs,  who 
was  now  snoring  like  a  bag-pipe  with  one  arm  lov- 
ingly wound  around  a  leg  of  the  library  table. 

The  care-taker  hoisted  the  attorney  on  his  broad 
shoulders,  his  burden  still  piping  as  they  crossed  the 
hall  and  mounted  the  stairway.  Having  deposited 


120  THE   STROLLERS 

his  load  within  the  amazing  depths  of  a  Dutch  feather 
mattress,  where  he  lay  well-nigh  lost  to  sight,  but  not 
unheard,  the  wacht-meester  of  the  steyn  left  him  to 
well-earned  slumber  and  descended  to  the  kitchen. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  the  land  baron,  freshly 
shaven,  not  a  jaded  line  in  his  face,  and  elastic  in 
step,  appeared  on  the  front  porch  before  which  his 
carriage  was  waiting. 

"When  shall  I  expect  you  back?"  asked  Oly-koeks, 
who  had  reappeared  at  the  sound  of  his  master's  foot- 
steps. 

"Any  time  or  never !"  laughed  the  patroon,  spring- 
ing into  the  vehicle. 

But  as  he  drove  through  a  bit  of  wood,  wrapped  in 
pleasing  reflections,  he  received  startling  proof  that 
the  warfare  between  landlord  and  tenants  had  indeed 
begun  in  earnest,  for  a  great  stone  suddenly  crashed 
through  the  window  of  the  vehicle,  without,  however, 
injuring  the  occupant.  Springing  from  his  carriage, 
Mauville  dashed  through  the  fringe  of  wood,  discharg- 
ing his  revolver  at  what  he  fancied  was  a  fleeing  fig- 
ure. But  a  fluttering  in  the  trees  from  the  startled 
birds  was  the  only  result. 

Little  Thunder  was  too  spry  to  be  caught  by  even  a 
pursuing  bullet. 


CHAPTER    X 

SEALING    THE     COMPACT 

"The  show  troupe  has  come  to  town,"  said  the  tall, 
lank  postmaster  to  every  one  who  called,  and  the  words 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  so  that  those  who  did 
not  witness  the  arrival  were  soon  aware  of  it.  Punch- 
inello and  his  companions  never  attracted  more  atten- 
tion from  the  old  country  peasants  than  did  the  char- 
iot and  its  occupants,  as  on  the  day  after  their  night  in 
the  woods  they  passed  through  the  main  thoroughfare 
of  the  village  where  they  were  soon  to  appear. 

Children  in  woolen  dresses  of  red  retinet,  or  in 
calico  Vandykes  and  aprons,  ran  after  the  ponderous 
vehicle  with  cries  of  delight ;  the  staid,  mature  contin- 
gent of  the  population  shook  their  heads  disapprov- 
ingly, while  viewing  with  wonder  the  great  lumbering 
coach,  its  passengers  inside  and  out,  and,  behind,  the 
large  wagon  with  its  load  of  miscellaneous  trap- 
pings. Now  on  the  stage  throne  lolled  the  bass  viol 
player,  even  as  Jacques  assumed  the  raiment  of  the 
Duke  of  Aranza,  reclining  the  while  in  his  chair  of 
state.  Contentment  was  written  upon  his  face,  and 

(121) 


122  THE    STROLLERS 

he  was  as  much  a  duke  or  a  king,  as  Jacques  when  he 
swelled  like  a  shirt  bleaching  in  a  high  wind  and  looked 
burly  as  a  Sunday  beadle. 

The  principal  avenue  of  the  village  boasted  but 
few  prosperous-looking  business  establishments.  In 
the  general  "mixed  store,"  farmers'  implements,  gro- 
ceries, West  India  goods  and  even  drugs  were  dis- 
pensed. But  the  apothecary's  trade  then  had  its  limi- 
tations, homeopathy  being  unknown,  while  calomel, 
castor  oil  and  rhubarb  were  mainly  in  demand,  as  well 
'as  senna,  manna  and  other  bitter  concoctions  with 
which  both  young  and  old  were  freely  dosed.  The 
grocer,  haberdasher,  and  druggist,  all  rolled  into  one 
substantial  personage,  so  blocked  the  doorway  of  his 
own  establishment,  while  gazing  at  the  strollers,  it 
would  have  puzzled  a  customer,  though  but  a  "sketch 
and  outline"  of  a  man,  to  have  slipped  in  or  out. 
Dashing  as  in  review  before  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
village,  the  coach,  with  an  extra  flourish,  rattled  up 
to  the  hotel,  a  low  but  generous-sized  edifice,  with  a 
wide,  comfortable  veranda,  upon  the  railing  of  which 
was  an  array  of  boots,  and  behind  them  a  number  of 
disconsolate-looking  teamsters. 

"You  want  to  register,  do  you  ?"  said  the  landlord 
in  answer  to  Barnes'  inquiry,  as  the  latter  entered  the 
office,  the  walls  of  which  were  covered  with  advertise- 
ments of  elections,  auctions,  sales  of  stock,  lands  and 
quack  medicines. 

"We  don't  keep  no  register,"  continued  the  landlord, 
"but  I  guess  we  can  accommodate  you,  although  the 


SEALING   THE   COMPACT       123 

house  is  rather  full  with  the  fellers  from  the  ark.  Or," 
he  added,  by  way  of  explanation  in  answer  to  the  man- 
ager's look  of  surprise,  "Philadelphia  freight  wagons, 
I  suppose  you  would  call  them.  But  we  speak  of 
them  as  arks,  because  they  take  in  all  creation.  Them's 
the  occupants,  making  a  Mount  Ararat  of  the  porch. 
They're  down-hearted,  because  they  used  to  liquor  up 
here  and  now  they  can't,  for  the  town's  temperance." 

"I  trust,  nevertheless,  you  are  prepared  for  a  season 
of  legitimate  drama,"  suggested  Barnes. 

The  other  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "The  town's 
for  lectures  clear  through,"  he  answered.  "They've 
been  making  a  big  fuss  about  show  folks." 

The  manager's  countenance  did  not  fall,  however, 
upon  hearing  this  announcement ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
shed  forth  inscrutable  satisfaction. 

No  sooner  were  they  settled  in  far  from  commodi- 
ous quarters  than  preparations  .for  the  future  were 
seriously  begun ;  and  now  the  drama  proceeded  apace, 
with  Barnes,  the  moving  spirit.  Despite  his  asser- 
tion that  he  was  no  scholar,  the  manager's  mind  was 
the  storehouse  of  a  hundred  plays,  and  in  that  deposit- 
ory were  many  bags  of  gold  and  many  bags  of  chaff. 
From  this  accumulation  he  drew  freely,  frankly,  in 
the  light-fingered  fashion  of  master  playwrights  and 
lesser  theatrical  thimble-riggers. 

Before  the  manager  was  a  table — the  stage ! — upon 
which  were  scattered  miscellaneous  articles,  symbols 
of  life  and  character.  A  stately  salt-cellar  repre- 
sented the  leading  lady;  a  pepper  box,  the  irascible 


124  THE   STROLLERS 

father ;  a  rotund  mustard  pot,  the  old  woman ;  a  long, 
slim  cruet,  the  ingenue;  and  a  pewter  spoon,  the  lover. 

Barnes  gravely  demonstrated  the  action  of  the 
scene  to  Saint-Prosper,  and  the  soldier  became 
collaborator,  "abandoning,  as  it  were,"  wrote  the 
manager  in  his  autobiographical  date-book  and 
diary,  "the  sword  for  the  pen,  and  the  glow  of  the 
Champ  de  Mars  for  the  glimmer  of  a  kerosene  lamp." 
And  yet  not  with  the  inclination  of  Burgoyne,  or 
other  military  gentlemen  who  have  courted  the  buskin 
and  sock !  On  the  contrary,  so  foreign  was  the  occu- 
pation to  his  leaning,  that  often  a  whimsical  light  in 
his  eye  betrayed  his  disinclination  and  modest  disbe- 
lief in  his  own  fitness  for  the  task.  "He  said  the  way 
I  laid  out  an  act  reminded  him  of  planning  a  campaign, 
with  the  outriders  and  skirmishers  before ;  the  cavalry 
arrayed  for  swift  service,  and  the  infantry  marching 
steadily  on,  carrying  with  them  the  main  plot,  or 
strength  of  the  movement." 

No  sooner  were  the  Salt  Cellar  and  Pepper  Box  re- 
united, and  the  Pewter  Spoon  clasped  in  the  arms  of 
the  loving  Cruet,  with  the  curtain  descending,  than 
Barnes,  who  like  the  immortal  Alcibiades  Triplet  could 
turn  his  hand  to  almost  anything,  became  furiously  en- 
gaged in  painting  scenery.  A  market-place,  with  a 
huge  wagon,  containing  porkers  and  poultry,  was 
dashed  off  with  a  celerity  that  would  have  made  a 
royal  academician  turn  green  with  envy.  The  Tiddly 
Wink  Inn  was  so  faithfully  reproduced  that  the  painted 
bottles  were  a  real  temptation,  while  on  the  pastoral 


125 

green  of  a  rural  landscape  grazed  sheep  so  life-like 
that,  as  Hawkes  observed,  it  actually  seemed  "they 
would  eat  the  scenery  all  up."  But  finally  sets  and  play 
were  alike  finished,  and  results  demonstrated  that  the 
manager  was  correct  in  his  estimate  of  such  a  drama, 
which  became  a  forerunner  of  other  pieces  of  this 
kind,  "The  Bottle,"  "Fruits  of  the  Wine  Cup,"  "Aunt 
Dinah's  Pledge,"  and  "Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar  Room." 

In  due  time  the  drama  was  given  in  the  town  hall, 
after  the  rehearsals  had  been  witnessed  by  a  commit- 
tee from  the  temperance  league,  who  reported  that  the 
play  "could  not  but  exercise  a  good  influence  and  was 
entertaining  withal  .  .  .  We  recommend  the  li- 
cense to  be  issued  and  commend  the  drama  to  all  Good 
Templars."  Therefore,  the  production  was  not  only 
well  attended,  but  play  and  players  were  warmly  re- 
ceived. The  town  hall  boasted  a  fairly  commodious 
platform  which  now  served  the  purpose  of  a  stage, 
and — noteworthy  circumstance ! — there  were  gas  jets 
for  footlights,  the  illuminating  fluid  having  at  that 
early  date  been  introduced  in  several  of  the  more  pro- 
gressive villages.  Between  the  acts,  these  yellow 
lights  were  turned  low,  and — running  with  the  cur- 
rent of  popular  desire — the  orchestra,  enlarged  to 
four,  played,  by  special  request,  "The  Old  Oaken 
Bucket/' 

The  song  had  just  sprung  into  popularity,  and,  in  a 
moment,  men,  women  and  children  had  added  their 
voices  to  the  instruments.  It  was  not  the  thrill  of  tem- 
perance fanaticism  that  stirred  their  hearts,  but  it  was 


126  THE    STROLLERS 

the  memories  of  the  old  pioneer  home  in  the  wilder- 
ness ;  the  rail-splitting,  road-building  days ;  the  ancient 
rites  of  "raisings"  and  other  neighborly  ceremonies ; 
when  the  farmer  cut  rye  with  a  cradle,  and  threshed  it 
out  with  his  flail;  when  "butter  and  eggs  were  pin 
money"  and  wheat  paid  the  store-keeper. 

"How  solemnly  they  take  their  amusements  in  the 
North,  Mr.  Barnes!"  exclaimed  a  voice  in  one  of  the 
entrances.  "What  a  contrast  to  the  South — the  wicked 
South!" 

The  manager  turned  sharply. 

"We  are  mere  servants  of  the  public,  Mr.  Mauville." 

"And  the  public  is  master,  Mr.  Barnes !  How  the 
dramatic  muse  is  whipped  around !  In  Greece,  she 
was  a  goddess ;  in  Rome,  a  hussy ;  in  England,  a 
sprightly  dame;  now,  a  straight-laced  Priscilla.  But 
you  have  a  recruit,  I  see  ?" 

"You  mean  Saint-Prosper?" 

"Yes,  and  I  can  hardly  blame  him — under  the  cir- 
cumstances !"  murmured  the  land  baron,  at  the  same 
time  glancing  around  as  though  seeking  some  one. 

"Circumstances!  What  circumstances?"  demanded 
the  manager. 

"Why,  the  pleasant  company  he  finds  himself  in,  of 
course,"  said  the  visitor,  easily.  "Ah,  I  see  Miss 
Carew,"  he  added,  his  eye  immediately  lightening, 
"and  must  congratulate  her  on  her  performance. 
Cursed  dusty  hole,  isn't  it?"  Brushing  himself  with 
his  handkerchief  as  he  moved  away. 

"What  business  has  he  behind  the  scenes  anyway  ?" 


SEALING   THE   COMPACT       127 

grumbled  the  manager.  "Dusty  hole,  indeed!  Con- 
found his  impudence  I"  But  his  attention  being  drawn 
to  the  pressing  exigencies  of  a  first  night,  Barnes  soon 
forgot  his  irritation  over  this  unwarranted  intrusion 
in  lowering  a  drop,  hoisting  a  fly  or  readjusting  a  flat 
to  his  liking. 

The  land  baron  meanwhile  crossed  to  the  semi- 
darkness  at  the  rear  of  the  stage  behind  the  boxed 
scene,  where  he  had  observed  the  young  girl  waiting 
for  the  curtain  to  rise  on  the  last  act.  A  single  light 
on  each  side  served  partly  to  relieve  the  gloom;  to 
indicate  the  frame-work  of  the  set  scene  and  throw  in 
shadow  various  articles  designed  for  use  in  the  play. 
As  she  approached  Mauville,  who  stood  motionless  in 
an  unlighted  spot,  the  pale  glow  played  upon  her  a 
moment,  white  on  her  neck,,  in  sheen  on  the  folds  of 
her  gown,  and  then  she  stepped  into  the  shadow,  where 
she  was  met  by  a  tall  figure,  with  hand  eagerly  out- 
stretched. 

"Mr.  Mauville!"  she  exclaimed,  drawing  back  at 
the  suddenness  of  the  encounter. 

His  restless  eyes  held  hers,  but  his  greeting  was 
conventional. 

"Did  I  not  say  the  world  was  small  and  that  we 
might  meet  again  ?" 

"Of  course,  we  are  always  meeting  people  and  part- 
ing from  them,"  she  replied  unconcernedly. 

He  laughed.  "With  what  delightful  indifference 
you  say  that !  You  did  not  think  to  see  me  again  ?" 


128  THE   STROLLERS 

"I  hadn't  thought  about  it,"  she  answered,  frankly, 
annoyed  by  his  persistence. 

"I  am  unfortunate !"  he  said. 

Beneath  his  free  gaze  she  changed  color,  as  though 
the  shadow  of  a  rose  had  touched  her  face. 

"You  are  well  ?"  he  continued. 

"Yes." 

"I  need  not  have  asked."  His  expression  conveyed 
more — so  much  more,  she  bit  her  lip  impatiently. 
"How  do  you  like  the  new  part  ?" 

"It  is  hard  to  tell  yet,"  she  answered  evasively. 

"You  would  do  justice  to  any  role,  but  I  prefer  you 
in  a  historical  or  romantic  play,  with  the  picturesque 
old  costumes.  If  it  were  in  my  domains,  you  should 
appear  in  those  dramas,  if  I  had  to  hang  every  justice 
of  the  peace  in  the  district." 

Her  only  response  was  a  restless  movement  and  he 
hastened  to  add:  "I  fear,  however,  I  am  detaining 
you." 

He  drew  aside  with  such  deference  to  permit  her  to 
pass  that  her  conscience  smote  her  and  she  was  half- 
minded  to  turn  and  leave  him  more  graciously,  but 
this  impulse  was  succeeded  by  another  feeling,  ill-de- 
fined, the  prevailing  second  thought.  Had  she  looked, 
she  would  have  seen  that  her  fluttering  shawl  touched 
his  hand  and  he  quickly  raised  it  to  his  lips,  releasing 
it  immediately.  As  it  was,  she  moved  on,  unaware  of 
the  gesture.  The  orchestra,  or  rather  string  quartet, 
had  ceased;  Hans,  a  host  in  himself,  a  mountain  of 
melody,  bowed  his  acknowledgments;  the  footlights 


SEALING   THE   COMPACT       129 

glared,  the  din  of  voices  subsiding;  and  the  curtain 
rose. 

Remaining  in  the  background,  the  land  baron 
watched  the  young  girl  approach  the  entrance  to  the 
Stage,  where  she  stood,  intent,  one  hand  resting  against 
the  scenery,  her  dress  upheld  with  the  other;  the 
glimmer  from  the  foot-lights,  reflected  through  the 
opening,  touching  her  face;  suddenly,  with  a  graceful 
movement,  she  vanished,  and  her  laughing  voice 
seemed  to  come  from  afar. 

Was  it  for  this  he  had  made  his  hasty  journey?  To 
be  treated  with  indifference  by  a  wandering  player; 
he,  the  patroon,  the  unsuccessful  suitor  of  a  stroller! 
She,  who  appeared  in  taverns,  in  barns,  perhaps,  was 
as  cold  and  proud  as  any  fine  lady,  untroubled  about 
the  morrow,  and,  as  he  weighed  this  phase  of  the  mat- 
ter, the  land  baron  knew  not  whether  he  loved  her 
most  for  her  beauty  or  hated  her  for  the  slight  she  put 
upon  him.  But  love  or  hate,  it  was  all  one,  and  he 
told  himself  he  would  see  the  adventure  to  the  end. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Mauville?"  said  a  gay  but 
hushed  voice,  interrupting  his  ruminations,  and  Susan, 
in  a  short  skirt  and  bright  stockings,  greeted  him. 

"The  better  for  seeing  you,  Mistress  Susan."  Non- 
chalantly surveying  her  from  head  to  foot. 

She  bore  his  glance  with  the  assurance  of  a  pretty 
woman  who  knows  she  is  looking  her  best. 

"Pooh!"  Curtesying  disdainfully.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve you !  You  came  to  see  some  one  else.  Well" — 
lightly — "she  is  already  engrossed," 


i3o  THE   STROLLERS 

"Really?"  said  the  land  baron. 

"Yes.  You  understand?  He  follows  her  with  his 
every  glance,"  she  added  roguishly.  Susan  was  never 
averse  to  straining  the  truth  a  little  when  it  served 
her  purpose. 

"I  should  infer  he  was  following  her  with  more 
than  his  eyes,"  retorted  the  master  of  the  manor  dryly. 

Susan  tapped  the  stage  viciously  with  a  little  foot. 
"She's  a  lovely  girl,"  she  continued,  drawing  cabalis- 
tic figures  with  the  provoking  slipper. 

"You  are  piqued?"  he  said,  watching  her  skeptic- 
ally. 

"Not  at  all."  Quickly,  startled  by  his  blunt  accusa- 
tion. 

"Not  a  little  jealous?"  he  persisted  playfully. 

"Jealous?"  Then  with  a  frown,  hesitatingly: 
"Well,  she  is  given  prominence  in  the  plays  and — " 

" — You  would  not  be  subordinated,  if  she  were  not 
in  the  company?  Apart  from  this,  you  are  fond  of 
her?" 

The  foot  ceased  its  tracing  and  rested  firmly  on  the 
floor. 

"I  hate  her!"  snapped  Susan,  angered  by  this  bait- 
ing. No  sooner  had  she  spoken  than  she  regretted 
her  outburst.  "How  you  draw  one  out !  I  was  only 
joking — though  she  does  have  the  best  parts  and  we 
take  what  we  can  get !" 

"But  she's  a  lovely  girl !"  concluded  the  land  baron. 

Susan's  eyes  flashed  angrily. 

"How  clever  of  you!    You  twist  and  turn  one's 


SEALING   THE   COMPACT       131 

words  about  and  give  them  a  different  meaning  from 
what  was  intended.  If  I  wanted  to  catch  you  up — " 

"A  truce!"  he  exclaimed.  "Let  us  take  each  other 
seriously,  hereafter.  Is  it  agreed?"  She  nodded. 
"Well,  seriously,  you  can  help  me  and  help  yourself." 
1  "How?"  doubtfully. 

"Why  not  be  allies?" 

"What  for?" 

"Mutual  service." 

"Oh!"  dubiously. 

"A  woman's  'yes' !" 

"No,"  with  affirmative  answer  in  her  eyes. 

He  believed  the  latter. 

"We  will  seal  the  compact  then." 

And  he  bent  over  and  saluted  Mistress  Susan  on  the 
lips.  She  became  as  rosy  as  the  flowers  she  carried 
and  tapped  him  playfully  with  them. 

"For  shame!     La!     What  must  you  think  of  me?" 

"That  you  are  an  angel." 

"How  lovely !     But  I  must  go." 

"May  I  see  you  after  the  play  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  not  fail  me,  or  the  soldier  will  not  transfer  his 
affections  to  you  \" 

"If  he  dared!"  And  she  shook  her  head  defiantly 
as  she  tripped  away. 

"Little  fool !"  murmured  Mauville,  his  lips  curling 
scornfully.  "The  one  is  a  pastime;  the  other" — he 
paused  and  caught  his  breath — "a  passion !" 

But  he  kept  his  appointment  with  Susan,  escorting 


132  THE   STROLLERS' 

her  to  the  hotel,  where  he  bade  her  good-night  with  a 
lingering  pressure  of  the  hand,  and — ordered  his 
equipage  to  the  door ! 

"Hadn't  you  better  wait  until  morning?"  asked 
the  surprised  landlord,  when  the  young  patroon  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  taking  an  immediate  de- 
parture. "There  are  the  barn-burners  and — traveling 
at  night — " 

"Have  they  turned  footpads?"  was  the  light  reply. 
"Can't  I  drive  through  my  own  lands?  Let  me  see 
one  of  their  thieving  faces — "  And  he  made  a  signifi- 
cant gesture.  "Not  ride  at  night!  These  Jacobins 
shall  not  prevent  me." 

Barring  the  possible  danger  from  the  lease-holders 
who  were  undoubtedly  ripe  for  any  mischief,  the  jour- 
ney did  not  promise  such  discomfiture  as  might  have 
been  expected,  the  coach  being  especially  constructed 
for  night  traveling.  On  such  occasions,  between  the 
seats  the  space  was  filled  by  a  large  cushion,  adapted 
to  the  purpose,  which  in  this  way  converted  the  interior 
of  the  vehicle  into  a  sleeping-room  of  limited  dimen- 
sions. With  pillows  to  neutralize  the  jarring,  the  land 
baron  stretched  himself  indolently  upon  his  couch,  and 
gazed  through  the  window  at  the  crystalline  lights  of 
the  heavens, 'while  thoughts  of  lease-holders  and  barn- 
burners faded  into  thin  air. 

At  dawn,  when  he  opened  his  eyes,  the  morning 
star  yet  gleamed  with  a  last  pale  luster.  Raising  him- 
self on  his  elbow  and  looking  out  over  the  country  to 
learn  his  whereabouts,  his  eye  fell  upon  a  tree,  blood- 


SEALING   THE   COMPACT       133 

red,  a  maple  amid  evergreens.  Behind  this  somber 
community  of  pines,  stiff  as  a  band  of  Puritan  elders, 
surrounding  the  bright-hued  maple,  a  Hester  in  that 
austere  congregation,  appeared  the  glazed  tile  roof  of 
Eittle  Thunder's  habitation,  a  two-story  abode  of  mod- 
est proportions  and  olden  type.  As  the  land  baron 
passed,  a  brindle  cow  in  the  side  yard  saluted  the  morn, 
calling  the  sluggard  from  his  couch,  but  at  the  manor, 
which  the  patroon  shortly  reached,  the  ever  wakeful 
Oly-koeks  was  already  engaged  in  chopping  wood  near 
the  kitchen  door.  The  growling  of  the  hound  at  his 
feet  called  the  care-taker's  attention  to  the  master's 
coming,  and,  driving  the  ax  into  an  obstinate  stick  of 
hickory,  he  donned  his  coat,  drawing  near  the  vehicle, 
where  he  stood  in  stupid  wonderment  as  the  land  baron 
alighted. 

"Any  callers,  Oly-koeks?"  carelessly  asked  the 
master. 

"A  committee  of  barn-burners,  Mynheer,  to  ask  you 
not  to  serve  any  more  writs." 

"And  so  give  them  time  to  fight  me  with  the  law- 
makers !  But  there ;  carry  my  portmanteau  into  the 
library  and" — as  Oloffe's  upper  lip  drew  back — "teach 
your  dog  to  know  me." 

"He  belonged  to  the  old  master,  Mynheer.  When 
he  died,  the  dog  lay  near  his  grave  day  and  night." 

"I  dare  say;  like  master,  like  dog!  But  fetch  the 
portmanteau,  you  Dutch  varlet !"  Entering  the  house, 
while  the  coachman  drove  the  tired  horses  toward  the 
barn.  "There's  something  in  it  I  want.  Bring  it 


134  THE   STROLLERS 

here."  As  he  passed  into  the  library.  "Yes ;  I  put  it 
in  there,  I  am  sure.  Ah,  here  we  have  it !"  And  un- 
packing the  valise,  he  took  therefrom  a  handsome 
French  writing  case. 

"Thou  Wily  Limb  of  the  Law,"  wrote  the  patroon, 
"be  it  known  by  these  presents,  thou  art  summoned  to 
appear  before  me !  I  have  work  for  you — not  to  serve 
any  one  with  a  writ;  assign;  bring  an  action,  or  any 
of  your  rascally,  pettifogging  tricks !  Send  me  no  de- 
murrer, but  your  own  intemperate  self." 

Which  epistle  the  patroon  addressed  to  his  legal 
satellite  and  despatched  by  messenger. 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE     QUEST     OF     THE     SOLDIER 

Several  bleak  days  were  followed  by  a  little  June 
weather  in  October.  A  somnolent  influence  rested 
everywhere.  Above  the  undulation  of  land  on  the 
horizon  were  the  clouds,  like  heavenly  hills,  reflecting 
their  radiance  on  those  earthly  elevations.  The  celes- 
tial mountains  and  valleys  gave  wondrous  perspective 
to  the  outlook,  and  around  them  lay  an  atmosphere, 
unreal  and  idyllic. 

On  such  a  morning  Susan  stood  at  a  turn  in  the 
road,  gazing  after  a  departing  vehicle  with  ill-con- 
cealed satisfaction  and  yet  withal  some  dubiousness. 
Now  that  the  plan,  suggested  by  Mauville,  had  not 
miscarried,  certain  misgivings  arose,  for  there  is  a 
conscience  in  the  culmination  wanting  in  the  concep- 
tion of  an  act.  As  the  partial  realization  of  the  situa- 
tion swept  over  her,  she  gave  a  gasp,  and  then,  the 
vehicle  having  meanwhile  vanished,  a  desperate  spirit 
of  bravado  replaced  her  momentary  apprehension. 
She  even  laughed  nervously  as  she  waved  her  hand- 
(135) 


.  136  THE   STROLLERS 

kerchief  in  the  direction  the  coach  had  taken:  "Bon 
voyage!" 

But  as  the  words  fell  from  the  smiling  lips,  her  eyes 
became  thoughtful  and  her  hand  fell  to  her  side;  it 
occurred  to  Susan  she  would  be  obliged  to  divert  sus- 
picion from  herself.  The  curling  lips  straightened; 
she  turned  abruptly  and  hastened  toward  the  town. 
But  her  footsteps  soon  lagged  and  she  paused  thought- 
fully. 

"If  I  reach  the  hotel  too  soon,"  she  murmured, 
"they  may  overtake  him." 

So  she  stopped  at  the  wayside,  attracted  by  the  bril- 
liant cardinal  flowers,  humming  as  she  plucked  them, 
but  ever  and  anon  glancing  around  guiltily.  The  ab- 
surd thought  came  to  her  that  the  bright  autumn 
blossoms  were  red,  the  hue  of  sin,  and  she  threw 
them  on  the  sward,  and  unconsciously  rubbed  her 
hands  on  her  dress. 

;  Still  she  lingered,  however,  vaguely  mindful  she  was 
adding  to  her  burden  of  ill-doing,  but  finally  again 
started  slowly  toward  the  village,  hurrying  as  she  ap- 
proached the  hotel,  where  she  encountered  the  soldier 
on  the  veranda.  Her  distressed  countenance  and 
haste  proclaimed  her  a  messenger  of  disaster. 

"Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!"  she  exclaimed  excitedly. 
"Where  is  Mr.  Barnes?" 

"What  is  the  matter,  Miss  Duran?"  Suspecting 
very  little  was  the  matter,  for  Susan  was  nothing,  if 
not  all  of  a  twitter. 

"Constance  has  been  carried  off !" 


QUEST   OF   THE    SOLDIER      137 

"Carried  off!"  He  regarded  her  as  if  he  thought 
she  had  lost  her  senses. 

"Yes ;  abducted !" 

"Abducted !  By  whom  ?" 

I — I  did  not  see  his  face !"  she  gasped.  "And  it  is 
all  my  fault !  I  asked  her  to  take  a  walk !  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do?"  Wringing  her  hands  in  anguish  that  was 
half  real.  "We  kept  on  and  on — it  was  so  pleasant! 
— until  we  had  passed  far  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the 
village.  At  a  turn  in  the  road  stood  a  coach — a  cloak 
was  thrown  over  my  head  by  some  one  behind — I  must 
have  fainted,  and,  when  I  recovered,  she  was  gone. 
Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !" 

"When  did  it  happen?"  As  he  spoke  the  young 
man  left  the  veranda.  Grazing  contentedly  near  the 
porch  was  his  horse  and  Saint-Prosper's  hand  now 
rested  on  the  bridle. 

"I  can't  tell  how  long  I  was  unconcious,"  said  the 
seemingly  hysterical  young  woman,  "but  I  hurried 
here  as  soon  as  I  recovered  myself." 

"Where  did  it  occur?    Down  the  road  you  came?" 

"Ye-es." 

Saint-Prosper  vaulted  into  the  saddle.  "Tell  the 
manager  to  see  a  magistrate,"  he  said. 

"But  you're  not  going  to  follow  them  alone  ?"  began 
Susan.  "Oh  dear,  I  feel  quite  faint  again !  If  you 
would  please  help  me  into  the — " 

By  way  of  answer,  the  other  touched  his  horse 
deeply  with  the  spur  and  the  mettlesome  animal 
reared  and  plunged,  then,  recalled  by  the  sharp  voice 


138  THE   STROLLERS 

of  the  rider,  galloped  wildly  down  the  road.  Susan 
observed  the  sudden  departure  with  mingled  emotions. 

"How  quixotic!"  she  thought  discontentedly. 
"But  he  won't  catch  them,"  came  the  consoling  after- 
thought, as  she  turned  to  seek  the  manager. 

Soon  the  soldier,  whose  spirited  dash  down  the  main 
thoroughfare  had  awakened  some  misgivings  in  the 
little  town,  was  beyond  the  precincts  of  village  scru- 
tiny. The  country  road  was  hard,  although  marked 
by  deep  cuts  from  traffic  during  a  rainy  spell,  and  the 
horse's  hoofs  rang  out  with  exhilarating  rhythm.  Re- 
gardless of  all  save  the  distance  traversed,  the  rider 
yet  forbore  to  press  the  pace,  relaxing  only  when, 
after  a  considerable  interval,  he  came  to  another  road 
and  drew  rein  at  the  fork.  One  way  to  the  right  ran 
gently  through  the  valley,  apparently  terminating  in 
the  luxuriant  foliage,  while  the  other,  like  a  winding, 
murky  stream,  stretched  out  over  a  more  level  tract 
of  land. 

Which  thoroughfare  had  the  coach  taken?  Dis- 
mounting, the  young  man  hastily  examined  the 
ground,  but  the  earth  was  so  dry  and  firm,  and  the 
tracks  of  wheels  so  many,  it  was  impossible  to  dis- 
tinguish the  old  marks  from  the  new.  Even  sign-post 
there  was  none;  the  roads  diverged,  and  the  soldier 
could  but  blindly  surmise  their  destination,  selecting 
after  some  hesitation  the  thoroughfare  running  into 
the  gorgeous,  autumnal  painted  forest. 

He  had  gone  no  inconsiderable  distance  when  his 
doubts  were  abruptly  confirmed.  Reaching  an  open- 


QUEST    OF    THE    SOLDIER      139 

ing,  bright  as  the  chapel  of  a  darkened  monastery,  he 
discerned  a  farmer  in  a  buckboard  approaching  from 
the  opposite  direction.  The  swift  pace  of  the  rider 
and  the  leisurely  jog  of  the  team  soon  brought  them 
together. 

"Did  you  pass  a  coach  down  the  road?"  asked  the 
soldier. 

"No-a,"  said  the  farmer,  deliberately,  as  his  fat 
horses  instinctively  stood  stock  still ;  "didn't  pass  no- 
body." 

"Have  you  come  far  ?" 

"A  good  ways." 

"You  would  have  met  a  coach,  if  it  had  passed  here 
an  hour  ago  ?" 

"I  guess  I  would,"  said  the  man.  "This  road  leads 
straight  across  the  country." 

"Where  does  the  other  road  at  the  fork  go  ?" 

"To  the  patroon  village.  There's  a  reform  orator 
there  to-day  and  a  barn-burners'  camp-fire." 

Without  waiting  to  thank  his  informant,  Saint- 
Prosper  pulled  his  horse  quickly  around,  while  the 
man  in  the  buckboard  gradually  got  under  way,  until 
he  had  once  more  attained  a  comfortable,  slow  gait. 
Indeed,  by  the  time  his  team  had  settled  down  to  a 
sleepy  jog,  in  keeping  with  the  dreamy  haze,  hanging 
upon  the  upland,  his  questioner  was  far  down  the  road. 

When,  however,  the  soldier  once  more  reached  the 
fork,  and  took  the  winding  way  across  a  more  level 
country,  he  moderated  his  pace,  realizing  the  need  of 
husbanding  his  horse's  powers  of  endurance.  The 


140 


THE    STROLLERS 


country  seemed  at  peace,  as  though  no  dissension  nor 
heated  passions  could  exist  within  that  pastoral  prov- 
ince. And  yet,  not  far  distant,  lay  the  domains  of  the 
patroons,  the  hot-bed  of  the  two  opposing  branches  of 
the  Democratic  party:  The  "hunkers,"  or  conserva- 
tive-minded men,  and  the  "barn-burners,"  or  progres- 
sive reformers,  who  sympathized  with  the  anti-renters. 

After  impatiently  riding  an  hour  or  more  through 
this  delectable  region,  the  horseman  drew  near  the 
patroon  village,  a  cluster  of  houses  amid  the  hills  and 
meadows.  Here  the  land  barons  had  originally  built 
for  the  tenants  comfortable  houses  and  ample  barns, 
saw  and  grist  mills.  But  the  old  homes  had  crumbled 
away,  and  that  rugged  ancestry  of  dwellings  had  been 
replaced  by  a  new  generation  of  houses,  with  clap- 
boards, staring  green  blinds  and  flimsy  verandas. 

In  the  historic  market  place,  as  Saint-Prosper  rode 
down  the  street,  were  assembled  a  number  of  lease- 
holders of  both  sexes  and  all  ages,  from  the  puny 
babe  in  arms  to  the  decrepit  crone  and  hoary  grand- 
sire,  listening  to  the  flowing  tongue  of  a  rustic  speech- 
maker.  This  forum  of  the  people  was  shaded  by  a 
sextette  of  well-grown  elms.  The  platform  of  the  lo- 
cal Demosthenes  stood  in  a  corner  near  the  street. 

"  'Woe  to  thee,  O  Moab !  Thou  art  undone,  O  peo- 
ple of  Chemosh,'  if  you  light  not  the  torch  of  equal 
rights!"  exclaimed  the  platform  patterer  as  Saint- 
Prosper  drew  near.  "Awake,  sons  of  the  free  soil! 
Now  is  the  time  to  make  a  stand !  Forswear  all  alle- 


QUEST   OF   THE   SOLDIER      141 

giance  to  the  new  patroon  ;  this  Southern  libertine  and 
despot  from  the  land  of  slavery !" 

The  grandam  wagged  her  head  approvingly;  the 
patriarch  stroked  his  beard  with  acquiescence  and 
strong  men  clenched  their  fists  as  the  spokesman 
mouthed  their  real  or  fancied  wrongs.  It  was  an 
earnest,  implacable  crowd ;  men  with  lowering  brows 
merely  glanced  at  the  soldier  as  he  rode  forward; 
women  gazed  more  intently,  but  were  quickly  lured 
back  by  the  tripping  phrases  of  the  mellifluous  speaker. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  gathering,  near  the  road, 
stood  a  tall,  beetling  individual  whom  Saint-Prosper 
addressed,  reining  in  his  horse  near  the  wooden  rail, 
which  answered  for  a  fence. 

"Dinna  ye  ken  I'm  listening?"  impatiently  retorted 
the  other,  with  a  fierce  frown.  "Gang  your  way, 
mon,"  he  added,  churlishly,  as  he  turned  his  back. 

Judging  from  the  wrathful  faces  directed  toward 
him,  the  lease-holders  esteemed  Saint-Prosper  a  polit- 
ical disturber,  affiliating  with  the  other  faction  of  the 
Democratic  party,  and  bent,  perhaps,  on  creating 
dissension  at  the  tenants'  camp-fire.  The  soldier's  im- 
patience and  anger  were  ready  to  leap  forth  at  a  word ; 
he  wheeled  fiercely  upon  the  weedy  Scot,  to  demand 
peremptorily  the  information  so  uncivilly  withheld, 
when  a  gust  of  wind  blowing  something  light  down  the 
road  caused  his  horse  to  shy  suddenly  and  the  rider 
to  glance  at  what  had  frightened  the  animal.  After  a 
brief  scrutiny,  he  dismounted  quickly  and  examined 


142  THE    STROLLERS 

more  attentively  the  object, — a  pamphlet  with  a  red 
cover,  upon  which  appeared  the  printed  design  of  the 
conventional  Greek  masks  of  Tragedy  and  Comedy, 
and  beneath,  the  title,  'The  Honeymoon/'  The  bright 
binding,  albeit  soiled  by  the  dusty  road,  and  the  flutter- 
ing of  the  leaves  in  the  breeze  had  startled  the  horse 
and  incidentally  attracted  the  attention  of  his  master. 
Across  the  somber  mask  of  melancholy  was  traced  in 
buoyant  hand  the  name  of  the  young  actress. 

But  the  soldier  needed  not  the  confirmation,  for 
had  he  not  noticed  this  same  prompt  book  in  her  lap 
on  the  journey  of  the  chariot?  It  was  a  mute,  but 
eloquent  message.  Could  she  have  spoken  more 
plainly  if  she  had  written  with  ink  and  posted  the 
missive  with  one  of  those  new  bronze-hued  portraits 
of  Franklin,  called  stamps  by  the  government  and 
"sticking  plaster"  by  the  people?  Undoubtedly  she 
had  hoped  the  manager  was  following  her  when  she 
intrusted  the  message  to  that  erratic  postman,  Chance, 
who  plied  his  vocation  long  before  the  black  Wash- 
ington or  the  bronze  Franklin  was  a  talisman  of  more 
or  less  uncertain  delivery. 

The  soldier,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  thrust 
the  pamphlet  inside  his  coat,  flung  himself  on  his  horse, 
and,  turning  from  the  market-place,  dashed  down  the 
road. 


CHAPTER    XII 

AN     ECCENTRIC     JAILER 

"For  a  man  who  can't  abide  the  sex,  this  is  a  pre- 
dicament," muttered  the  patroon's  jackal,  as  the  coach 
in  which  he  found  himself  sped  rapidly  along  the 
highway.  "Here  am  I  as  much  an  abductor  as  my  lord 
who  whipped  his  lady  from  England  to  the  colonies !" 
Gloomily  regarding  a  motionless  figure  on  the  seat 
opposite,  and  a  face  like  ivory  against  the  dark  cush- 
ions. "Curse  the  story;  telling  it  led  to  this!  How 
white  she  is ;  like  driven  snow ;  almost  as  if — " 

And  Scroggs,  whose  countenance  lost  a  shade  of  its 
natural  flush,  going  from  flame-color  to  salmon  hue, 
bent  with  sudden  apprehension  over  a  small  hand  which 
hung  from  the  seat. 

"No ;  it's  only  a  swoon,"  he  continued,  relieved,  feel- 
ing her  wrist  with  his  knobby  fingers.  "How  she 
struggled !  If  it  hadn't  been  for  smothering  her  with 
the  cloak — but  the  job's  done  and  that's  the  end  of  it." 

Settling  back  in  his  seat  he  watched  her  discontent- 
edly, alternately  protesting  against  the  adventure,  and 
consoling  himself  weakly  with  the  remembrance  of  the 
(143) 


144  THE    STROLLERS 

retainer ;  weighing  the  risks,  and  the  patroon's  ability 
to  gloss  over  the  matter ;  now  finding  the  former  un- 
duly obtrusive,  again  comforted  with  the  assurance  of 
the  power  pre-empted  by  the  land  barons.  Moreover, 
the  task  was  half-accomplished,  and  it  would  be  idle 
to  recede  now. 

"Why  couldn't  the  patroon  have  remained  content 
with  his  bottle?"  he  grumbled.  "But  his  mind  must 
needs  run  to  this  frivolous  and  irrational  proceeding! 
There's  something  reasonable  in  pilfering  a  purse, 
but  carrying  off  a  woman —  Yet  she's  a  handsome 
baggage." 

Over  the  half-recumbent  figure  swept  his  glance, 
pausing  as  he  surveyed  her  face,  across  which  flowed 
a  tress  of  hair  loosened  in  the  struggle.  Save  for  the 
unusual  pallor  of  her  cheek,  she  might  have  been  sleep- 
ing, but  as  he  watched  her  the  lashes  slowly  lifted, 
and  he  sullenly  nerved  himself  for  the  encounter.  At 
the  aspect  of  those  bead-like  eyes,  resolute  although 
ill  at  ease,  like  a  snake  striving  to  charm  an  adversary, 
a  tremor  of  half-recollection  shone  in  her  gaze  and 
the  color  flooded  her  face.  Mechanically,  sweeping 
back  the  straggling  lock  of  hair,  she  raised  herself 
without  removing  her  eyes.  He  who  had  expected 
a  tempest  of  tears  shifted  uneasily,  even  irritably,  from 
that  steady  stare,  until,  finding  the  silence  intolerable, 
he  burst  out: 

"Well,  ma'am,  am  I  a  bugbear?" 

In  her  dazed  condition  she  probably  did  not  hear 
his  words;  or,  if  she  did,  set  no  meaning  to  them, 


AN    ECCENTRIC   JAILER        145 

Her  glance,  however,  strayed  to  the  narrow  window, 
and  then  wandered  back  to  the  well-worn  interior  of 
the  coach.  Suddenly,  as  the  startling  realization  of 
her  position  came  to  her,  she  uttered  a  loud  cry,  sprang 
toward  the  door,  and,  with  nervous  fingers,  strove  to 
open  it.  The  man's  face  became  more  rubicund  as 
he  placed  a  detaining  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
roughly  thrust  her  toward  the  seat. 

"Make  the  best  of  it!"  he  exclaimed  peremptorily. 
"You'd  better,  for  I'm  not  to  be  trifled  with." 

Recoiling  from  his  touch,  she  held  herself  aloof 
with  such  aversion,  a  sneer  crossed  his  face,  and  he 
observed  glumly : 

"Oh,  I'm  not  a  viper !     If  you're  put  out,  so  am  I." 

"Who  are  you?"  she  demanded,  breathlessly. 

"That's  an  incriminating  question,  Ma'am,"  he  re- 
plied. "In  this  case,  though,  the  witness  has  no  objec- 
tion to  answering.  I'm  your  humble"  servant." 

His  forced  drollery  was  more  obnoxious  than  his  ill- 
humor,  and,  awakening  her  impatience,  restored  in  a 
measure  her  courage.  He  was  but  a  pitiful  object, 
after  all,  with  his  flame-colored  visage,  and  short, 
crouching  figure ;  and,  as  her  thoughts  passed  from  the 
brutal  part  he  had  played  on  the  road  to  her  present 
situation,  she  exclaimed  with  more  anger  than  appre- 
hension : 

"Perhaps  you  will  tell  me  the  meaning  of  this  out- 
rage— your  smothering  me — forcing  me  into  this  coach 
— and  driving  away — where?" 

His  face  became  once  more  downcast  and  moody. 


i46  THE   STROLLERS 

Driven  into  a  corner  by  her  swift  words,  his  glance 
met  hers  fairly ;  he  drummed  his  fingers  together. 

"There's  no  occasion  to  show  your  temper,  Miss," 
he  said  reflectively.  "I'm  a  bit  touchy  myself  to-day ; 
'sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel.'  You  see  I  know  my 
Shakespeare,  Ma'am.  Let  us  talk  about  that  great  poet 
and  the  parts  you,  as  an  actress,  prefer — " 

"Can  I  get  an  answer  from  you?"  she  cried,  sub- 
duing her  dread. 

"What  is  it  you  asked?" 

"As  if  you  did  not  know!"  she  returned,  her  lip 
trembling  with  impatience  and  loathing. 

"Yes;  I  remember."  Sharply.  "You  asked  where 
we  were  driving?  Across  the  country.  What  is  the 
meaning  of  this — outrage,  I  believe  you  called  it  ?  All 
actions  spring  from  two  sources — Cupid  and  cupidity. 
The  rest  of  the  riddle  you'll  have  to  guess."  Gazing 
insolently  into  her  face,  with  his  hands  on  his  knees. 

"But  you  have  told  me  nothing,"  she  replied,  striv- 
ing to  remain  mistress  of  herself  and  to  hide  her  appre- 
hension. 

"Do  you  call  that  nothing?  You  have  the  approxi- 
mate cause — causa  causans.  Was  it  Cupid?  No,  for 
like  Bacon,  your  sex's  'fantastical'  charms  move  me 
not." 

This  sally  put  him  in  better  temper  with  himself. 
She  was  helpless,  and  he  experienced  a  churlish  satis- 
faction in  her  condition. 

"What  was  it,  then  ?  Cupidity.  Do  you  know  what 
poverty  is  like  in  this  barren  region?"  he  cried  harsh- 


AN   ECCENTRIC  JAILER        147 

ly.  "The  weapons  of  education  only  unfit  you  for  the 
plow.  You  stint,  pinch,  live  on  nothing!"  He 
rubbed  his  dry  hands  together.  "It  was  crumbs  and 
scraps  under  the  parsimonious  regime;  but  now  the 
prodigal  has  come  into  his  own  and  believes  in  honest 
wages  and  a  merry  life." 

Wonderingly  she  listened,  the  scene  like  a  gro- 
tesque dream,  with  the  ever-moving  coach,  the  lonely 
road,  the  dark  woods,  and — so  near,  she  could  almost 
place  her  hand  upon  him — this  man,  muttering  and 
mumbling.  He  had  offered  her  the  key  of  the  mystery, 
but  she  had  failed  to  use  it.  His  ambiguous,  loose 
talk,  only  perplexed  and  alarmed  her ;  the  explanation 
was  none  at  all. 

As  he  watched  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
weighing  doubt  and  uncertainty,  new  ideas  assailed 
him.  After  all  she  had  spirit,  courage !  Moreover, 
she  was  an  actress,  and  the  patroon  was  madly  in  love 
with  her. 

"If  we  were  only  leagued  together,  how  we  could 
strip  him !"  he  thought. 

His  head  dropped  contemplatively  to  his  breast,  and 
for  a  long  interval  he  remained  silent,  abstracted, 
while  the  old  springless  coach,  with  many  a  jolt  and 
jar,  covered  mile  after  mile ;  up  the  hills,  crowned  with 
bush  and  timber ;  across  the  table  land ;  over  the  plank 
bridges  spanning  the  brooks  and  rivulets.  More  re- 
conciled to  his  part  and  her  presence,  his  lips  once  or 
twice  parted  as  if  he  were  about  to  speak,  but  closed 
again.  He  even  smiled,  showing  his  amber-hued 


148  THE   STROLLERS 

teeth,  nodding  his  head  in  a  friendly  fashion,  as  to  say : 
"It'll  come  out  all  right,  Madam ;  all  right  for  both  of 
us !"  Which,  indeed,  was  his  thought.  She  believed 
him  unsettled,  bereft  of  reason,  and,  although,  he  was 
manifestly  growing  less  hostile,  his  surveillance  became 
almost  unbearable.  At  every  moment  she  felt  him  re- 
garding her  like  a  lynx,  and  endeavored  therefore  to 
keep  perfectly  still.  What  would  her  strange  warder 
do  next?  It  was  not  an  alarming  act,  however.  He 
consulted  a  massive  watch,  remarking: 

"It's  lunch  time  and  over!  With  your  permission, 
I'll  take  a  bite  and  a  drop.  Will  you  join  me?" 

She  turned  her  head  away,  and,  not  disconcerted  by 
her  curt  refusal,  he  drew  a  wicker  box  from  beneath 
a  seat  and  opened  it.  His  reference  to  a  "bite  and  a 
drop"  was  obviously  figurative,  especially  the  "drop," 
which  grew  to  the  dimensions  of  a  pint,  which  he  swal- 
lowed quickly.  Perhaps  the  flavor  of  the  wine  made 
him  less  attentive  to  his  prisoner,  for  as  he  lifted  the 
receptacle  to  his  lips,  she  thrust  her  arms  through 
the  window  and  a  play  book  dropped  from  her  hand, 
a  possible  clue  for  any  one  who  might  follow  the  coach. 
For  some  time  she  had  been  awaiting  this  opportunity 
and  when  it  came,  the  carriage  was  entering  a  village. 

Scroggs  finished  his  cup.  "You  see,  we're  provided 
for,"  he  began.  Here  the  bottle  fell  from  his  hand. 

"The  patroon  village!"  he  exclaimed  in  consterna- 
tion. "I'd  forgotten  we  were  so  close!  And  they're 
all  gathered  in  the  square,  too !" 


AN    ECCENTRIC   JAILER        149 

He  cast  a  quick  glance  at  her.  "You're  all  ready  to 
call  for  help,"  he  sneered,  "but  I'm  not  ready  to  part 
company  yet." 

y  Hastily  drawing  up  one  of  the  wooden  shutters,  he 
placed  himself  near  the  other  window,  observing  fierce- 
ly ;  "I  don't  propose  you  shall  undo  what's  being  done 
for  you.  Let  me  hear  from  you" — jerking  his  finger 
toward  the  square — "and  I'll  not  answer  for  what 
I'll  do."  But  in  spite  of  his  admonition  he  read  such 
determination  in  her  eyes,  he  felt  himself  baffled. 

"You  intend  to  make  trouble !"  he  cried.  And  put- 
ting his  head  suddenly  through  the  window,  he  called 
to  the  driver :  "Whip  the  horses  through  the  market 
place!" 

As  the  affrighted  animals  sprang  forward  he  blocked 
the  window,  placing  one  hand  on  her  shoulder.  He 
felt  her  escape  from  his  grasp,  but  not  daring  to  leave 
his  post,  he  leaned  out  of  the  window  when  they  were 
opposite  the  square,  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  anti- 
renters,  exclaiming: 

"I'll  arrest  every  mother's  son  of  you!  I'll  evict 
you — jail  you  for  stealing  rent !" 

Drowned  by  the  answering  uproar,  "The  patroon's 
dog!"  "Bullets  for  deputies!"  the  emissary  of  the 
land  baron  continued  to  threaten  the  throng  with  his 
fist,  until  well  out  of  ear-shot,  and,  thanks  to  the  level 
road,  beyond  reach  of  their  resentment.  Not  that  they 
strove  to  follow  him  far,  for  they  thought  the  jackal 
had  taken  leave  of  his  senses.  Laughter  mingled 
with  their  jeers  at  the  absurd  figure  he  presented, 


150  THE   STROLLERS 

fulminating  and  flying  at  the  same  time.  But  there 
was  no  defiance  left  in  him  when  they  were  beyond  the 
village,  and  he  fell  back  into  his  seat,  his  face  now 
ash-colored. 

"If  they'd  stopped  us  my  life  wouldn't  have  been 
worth  the  asking,"  he  muttered  hoarsely.  "But  I  did 
it!"  Triumphantly  gazing  at  the  young  girl  who, 
trembling  with  excitement,  leaned  against  the  side 
of  the  coach.  "I  see  you  managed  to  get  down  the 
shutter.  I  hope  you  heard  your  own  voice.  I  didn't ; 
and,  what's  more,  I'm  sure  they  didn't !" 

With  fingers  he  could  hardly  control  he  opened  a 
second  bottle,  dispensed  with  the  formality  of  a  glass, 
and  set  the  neck  to  his  lips,  repeating  the  operation 
until  it  was  empty,  when  he  tossed  it  out  of  the  window 
to  be  shattered  against  a  rock,  after  which  he  sank 
again  into  a  semblance  of  meditation. 

Disappointed  over  her  ineffectual  efforts,  overcome 
by  the  strain,  the  young  girl  for  the  time  relaxed  all 
further  attempt.  Unseen,  unheard,  she  had  stood  at 
her  window!  She  had  tried  to  open  the  door,  but 
it  resisted  her  frantic  efforts,  and  then  the  din  had 
died  away  and  left  her  weak,  powerless,  hardly  con- 
scious of  the  hateful  voice  of  her  companion  from 
time  to  time  addressing  her. 

But  fortunately  he  preferred  the  gross  practice  of 
draining  the  cup  to  the  fine  art  of  conversation.  Left 
to  the  poor  company  of  her  thoughts,  she  dwelt  upon 
the  miscarriage  of  her  design,  and  the  slender  chance 
of  assistance.  They  would  probably  pass  through  no 


AN    ECCENTRIC   JAILER        151 

more  villages  and  if  they  did,  he  would  undoubtedly 
find  means  to  prevent  her  making  herself  known. 
Unless — and  a  glimmer  of  hope  flickered  through  her 
thoughts! — her  warder  carried  his  potations  to  a  point 
where  vigilance  ceased  to  be  a  virtue.  Inconsider- 
ately he  stopped  at  the  crucial  juncture,  with  all  the 
signs  of  contentment  and  none  of  drowsiness. 

So  minutes  resolved  themselves  into  hours  and  the 
day  wore  on.  Watching  the  sun-rays  bathe  the  top 
of  the  forest  below  them,  she  noted  how  fast  the  silver 
disk  was  descending.  The  day  which  had  seemed  inter- 
minable now  appeared  but  too  short,  and  she  would 
gladly  have  recalled  those  fleeting  hours.  Ignorant 
of  the  direction  in  which  they  had  been  traveling,  she 
realized  that  the  driver  had  been  unsparing  and  the  dis- 
tance covered  not  inconsiderable.  The  mystery  of 'the 
assault,  the  obscurity  of  the  purpose  and  the  vagueness 
of  their  destination  were  unknown  quantities  which, 
added  to  the  declining  of  the  day  and  the  brewing 
terrors  of  the  night,  were  well  calculated  to  terrify 
and  crush  her. 

Despairingly,  she  observed  how  the  sun  dipped,  and 
ever  dipped  toward  the  west,  when  suddenly  a  sound 
afar  rekindled  her  fainting  spirits.  Listening  more 
attentively,  she  was  assured  imagination  had  not  de- 
ceived her ;  it  was  the  faint  patter  of  a  horse's  hoofs. 
Nearer  it  drew ;  quicker  beat  her  pulses.  Moreover,  it 
was  the  rat-a-tat  of  galloping.  Some  one  was  pur- 
suing the  coach  on  horseback.  Impatient  to  glance 
behind,  she  only  refrained  for  prudential  reasons. 


152  THE   STROLLERS 

Immersed  in  his  own  grape-vine  castle  her  jailer 
was  unmindful  of  the  approaching  rider,  and  she 
turned  her  face  from  him  that  he  might  not  read  her 
exultation.  Closer  resounded  the  beating  hoofs,  but 
her  impatience  outstripped  the  pursuer,  and  she  was  al- 
most impelled  to  rush  to  the  window. 

Who  was  the  horseman?  Was  it  Barnes?  Saint- 
Prosper?  The  latter's  name  had  quickly  suggested 
itself  to  her. 

Although  the  rider,  whoever  he  might  be,  con- 
tinued to  gain  ground,  to  her  companion,  the  ap- 
proaching clatter  was  inseparable  from  the  noise  of 
the  vehicle,  and  it  was  not  until  the  horseman  was 
nearly  abreast,  and  the  cadence  of  the  galloping  re- 
solved itself  into  clangor,  that  the  dreamer  awoke  with 
an  imprecation.  As  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  thus  rudely 
disturbed,  a  figure  on  horseback  dashed  by  and  a  stern 
voice  called  to  the  driver: 

"Stop  the  coach!" 

Probably  the  command  was  given  over  the  persua- 
sive point  of  a  weapon,  for  the  animals  were  drawn 
up  with  a  quick  jerk  and  came  to  a  stand-still  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  Menacing  and  abusive,  as  the 
vehicle  stopped,  the  warder's  hand  sought  one  of  his 
pockets,  when  the  young  girl  impetuously  caught  his 
arm,  clinging  to  it  tenaciously. 

"Quick! — Mr.  Saint-Prosper!"  she  cried,  recogniz- 
ing, as  she  thought,  the  voice  of  the  soldier. 

"You  wild-cat!"  her  jailer  exclaimed,  struggling  to 
throw  her  off. 


AN   ECCENTRIC   JAILER        153 

Not  succeeding,  he  raised  his  free  arm  in  a  flurry 
of  invective. 

"Curse  you,  will  you  let  go !" 

"Quick!  Quick!"  she  called  out,  holding  him  more 
tightly. 

A  flood  of  Billingsgate  flowed  from  his  lips.  "Let 
go,  or—" 

But  before  he  could  in  his  blind  passion  strike  her 
or  otherwise  vent  his  rage,  a  revolver  was  clapped  to 
his  face  through  the  window,  and,  with  a  look  of  sur- 
prise and  terror,  his  valor  oozing  from  him,  he 
crouched  back  on  the  cushions.  At  the  same  time 
the  carriage  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Edward  Mau- 
ville,  the  patroon,  stood  in  the  entrance ! 

Only  an  instant  his  eyes  swept  her,  observing  the 
flushed  cheeks  and  disordered  attire,  reading  her  won- 
der at  his  unexpected  appearance,  and — to  his  satis- 
faction!— her  relief  as  well;  only  an  instant,  during 
which  the  warder  stared  at  him  open-mouthed — and 
then  his  glance  rested  on  the  now  thoroughly  sober 
limb  of  the  law. 

"Get  out !"  he  said,  briefly  and  harshly. 

"But,"  began  the  other  with  a  sickly  grin,  intended 
to  be  ingratiating,  "I  don't  understand — this  unex- 
pected manner — this  forcible  departure  from — " 

Coolly  raising  his  weapon,  the  patroon  deliberately 
covered  the  hapless  jailer,  who  unceremoniously 
scrambled  out  of  the  door.  The  land  baron  laughed, 
replaced  his  revolver  and,  turning  to  the  young  girl, 
removed  his  hat. 


154  THE   STROLLERS 

"It  was  fortunate,  Miss  Carew,  I  happened  along," 
he  said  gravely.  "With  your  permission,  I  will  get 
in.  You  can  tell  me  what  has  happened  as  we  drive 
along.  The  manor  house,  my  temporary  home,  is  not 
far  from  here.  If  I  can  be  of  any  service,  command 
me!" 

The  jackal  saw  the  patroon  spring  into  the  carriage, 
having  fastened  his  horse  behind,  and  drive  off.  Until 
the  vehicle  had  disappeared,  he  stood  motionless  in 
the  road,  but  when  it  had  passed  from  sight,  he  seated 
himself  on  a  stone. 

"That  comes  from  mixing  the  breed !"  he  muttered. 
"Dramatic  effect,  a  la  France!"  He  wiped  the  per- 
spiration from  his  brow.  "Well,  I'm  three  miles  from 
my  humble  habitation,  but  I'd  rather  walk  than  ride — 
under  some  circumstances !" 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE    COMING   OF   LITTLE    THUNDER 

The  afternoon  was  waning ;  against  the  golden  west- 
ern sky  the  old  manor  house  loomed  in  solemn  majesty, 
the  fields  and  forests  emphasizing  its  isolation  in  the 
darkening  hour  of  sunset,  as  a  coach,  with  jaded 
horses,  passed  through  the  avenue  of  trees  and  ap- 
proached the  broad  portico.  A  great  string  of  trailing 
vine  had  been  torn  from  the  walls  by  the  wind  and 
now  waved  mournfully  to  and  fro  with  no  hand  to  ad- 
just it.  In  the  rear  was  a  huge-timbered  barn,  the 
door  of  which  was  unfastened,  swinging  on  its  rusty 
hinges  with  a  creaking  and  moaning  sound. 

As  gaily  as  in  the  days  when  the  periwigged  coach- 
man had  driven  the  elaborate  equipage  of  the  early 
patroons  through  the  wrought-iron  gate  this  modern 
descendant  entered  the  historic  portals,  not  to  be  met, 
however,  by  servitors  in  knee  breeches  at  the  front 
door,  but  by  the  solitary  care-taker  who  appeared  on 
the  portico  in  considerable  disorder  and  evident  state 
of  excitement,  accompanied  by  the  shaggy  dog, 
Oloffe. 


156  THE   STROLLERS 

"The  deputies  shot  two  of  the  tenants  to-day,"  hur- 
riedly exclaimed  the  guardian  of  the  place,  without 
noticing  Mauville's  companion.  "The  farmers  fired 
upon  them;  they  replied,  and  one  of  the  tenants  is 
dead." 

"A  good  lesson  for  them,  since  they  were  the  aggres- 
sors," cried  the  heir,  as  he  sprang  from  the  coach. 
"But  you  have  startled  the  lady." 

An  exclamation  from  the  vehicle  in  an  unmistaka- 
bly feminine  voice  caused  the  "wacht-meester"  now  to 
observe  the  occupant  for  the  first  time  and  the  servant 
threw  up  his  hands  in  consternation.  Here  was  a 
master  who  drank  all  night,  shot  his  tenants  by  proxy, 
visited  strollers,  and  now  brought  one  of  them  to  the 
steyn.  That  the  strange  lady  was  a  player,  Oly-koeks 
immediately  made  up  his  mind,  and  he  viewed  her  with 
mingled  aversion  and  fear,  as  the  early  settlers  re- 
garded sorcerers  and  witches.  She  was  very  beautiful, 
he  observed  in  that  quick  glance,  but  therefore  the  more 
dangerous;  she  appeared  distressed,  but  he  attributed 
her  apparent  grief  to  artfulness.  He  at  once  saw 
a  new  source  of  trouble  in  her  presence;  as  though 
the  threads  were  not  already  sufficiently  entangled, 
without  the  introduction  of  a  woman — and  she  a  pub- 
lic performer ! — into  the  complicated  mesh ! 

"Fasten  the  iron  shutters  of  the  house,"  briefly  com- 
manded Mauville,  breaking  in  upon  the  servant's  pain- 
ful reverie.  "Then  help  this  man  change  the  horses 
and  put  in  the  grays." 

Oly-koeks,  with  a  final  deprecatory  glance  at  the 


LITTLE   THUNDER  157 

coach,  expressive  of  his  estimate  of  his  master's  light 
conduct  and  his  apprehension  of  the  outcome,  disap- 
peared to  obey  this  order. 

"May  I  assist  you,  Miss  Carew?"  said  the  land  baron 
deferentially,  offering  his  arm  to  the  young  girl,  whose 
pale  but  observant  face  disclosed  new  demur  and  in- 
quiry. 

"But  you  said  we  would  go  right  on  ?"  she  returned, 
drawing  back  with  implied  dissent. 

"When  the  horses  are  changed!  If  you  will  step 
out,  the  carriage  will  be  driven  to  the  barn." 

Reluctantly  she  obeyed,  and  as  she  did  so,  the  pa- 
troon  and  the  coachman  exchanged  pithy  glances. 

"Look  sharp!"  commanded  the  master,  sternly. 
"Oh,  he  won't  run  away,"  added  Mauville  quickly,  in 
answer  to  her  look  of  surprise.  "He  knows  I  could 
find  him,  and" — fingering  his  revolver — "will  not 
disoblige  me.  Later  we'll  hear  the  rogue's  story." 

The  man's  averted  countenance  smothered  a  clandes- 
tine smile,  as  he  touched  the  horses  with  his  whip  and 
turned  them  toward  the  barn,  leaving  the  patroon 
and  his  companion  alone  on  the  broad  portico.  Sweep- 
ing from  a  distant  grove  of  slender  poplars  and  snowy 
birch  a  breeze  bore  down  upon  them,  suddenly  bleak 
and  frosty,  and  she  shivered  in  the  nipping  air. 

"You  are  chilled!"  he  cried.  "If  you  would  but 
go  into  the  house  while  we  are  waiting!  Indeed,  if 
you  do  not,  I  shall  wonder  how  I  have  offended  you ! 
It  will  be  something  to  remember"— half  lightly,  half 
seriously — "that  you  have  crossed  my  threshold  1" 


158  THE    STROLLERS 

He  stood  at  the  door,  with  such  an  tmdissembled 
smile,  his  accents  so  regretful,  that  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  Constance  entered,  followed  by  the  patroon. 
Sweeping  aside  the  heavy  draperies  from  the  window, 
he  permitted  the  golden  shafts  of  the  ebbing  day  to 
enter  the  hall,  gleaming  on  the  polished  floors,  the 
wainscoting  and  the  furniture,  faintly  illuminating 
the  faded  pictures  and  weirdly  revealing  the  turnings 
of  the  massive  stairway.  No  wonder  a  half-shudder 
of  apprehension  seized  the  young  actress  in  spite  of 
her  self-reliance  and  courage,  as  she  entered  the  solemn 
and  mournful  place,  where  past  grandeur  offered  noth- 
ing save  morbid  memories  and  where  the  frailty  of 
existence  was  significantly  written !  After  that  In- 
dian summer  day  the  sun  was  sinking,  angry  and  fiery, 
as  though  presaging  a  speedy  reform  in  the  vagaries 
of  the  season  and  an  immediate  return  to  the  legitimate 
surroundings  of  October. 

Involuntarily  the  girl  moved  to  the  window,  where 
the  light  rested  on  her  brown  tresses,  and  as  Mauville 
watched  that  radiance,  shifting  and  changing,  her  hair 
alight  with  mystic  color,  the  passion  that  had  prompted 
him  to  this  end  was  stirred  anew,  dissipating  any 
intrusive  doubts.  The  veering  and  flickering  sheen 
seemed  but  a  web  of  entangling  irradiation.  A  span 
of  silence  became  an  interminable  period  to  her,  with 
no  sight  of  fresh  horses  nor  sign  of  preparation  for  the 
home  journey. 

"What  takes  him  so  long?"  she  said,  finally,  with 
impatience.  "It  is  getting  so  late  1" 


LITTLE   THUNDER  159 

"It  is  late,"  he  answered.  "Almost  too  late  to  go 
on!  You  are  weary  and  worn.  Why  not  rest  here 
to-night  ?" 

"Rest  here?"  she  repeated,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 
?"You  are  not  fit  to  drive  farther.  To-morrow  we 
can  return." 

"To-morrow !"  '  she  cried.  "But — what  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"That  I  must  insist  upon  your  sparing  yourself!" 
he  said,  firmly,  although  a  red  spot  flushed  his  cheek. 

"No;  no!     We  must  leave  at  once!"  she  answered. 

He  smiled  reassuringly.  "Why  will  you  not  have 
confidence  in  me?"  he  asked.  "You  have  not  the 
strength  to  travel  all  night — over  a  rough  road — after 
such  a  trying  day.  For  your  own  sake,  I  beg  you  to 
give  up  the  idea.  Here  you  are  perfectly  safe  and 
may  rest  undisturbed/' 

'Please  call  the  horses  at  once!" 

An  impatient  expression  furrowed  his  brow.  He 
had  relied  on  easily  prevailing  upon  her  through 
her  gratitude;  continuing  in  his  disinterested  role  for 
yet  some  time ;  resuming  the  journey  on  the  morrow, 
carrying  her  farther  away  under  pretext  of  mistaking 
the  road,  until —  Here  his  plans  had  faded  into  a 
vague  perspective,  dominated  by  unreasoning  self-con- 
fidence and  egotism. 

But  her  words  threatened  a  rupture  at  the  outset 
that  would  seriously  alter  the  status  of  the  adventure. 

"It  is  a  mistake  to  go  on  to-night,"  he  said,  with  a 
dissenting  gesture.  "However,  if  you  are  determined 


160  THE   STROLLERS 

— "  And  Mauville  stepped  to  the  window.  "Why, 
the  carriage  is  not  there!"  he  exclaimed,  looking  out. 

"Not  there!"  she  repeated,  incredulously.  "You 
told  them  to  change  the  horses.  Why — " 

"I  don't  understand,"  returned  the  land  baron,  with 
an  effort  to  make  his  voice  surprised  and  concerned. 
"He  may—  Helloa,  there!  You!—  Oly-koeks !" 
he  called  out,  interrupting  his  own  explanation. 

Not  Oly-koeks,  but  the  driver's  face,  appeared  from 
behind  the  barn  door,  and,  gazing  through  the  window, 
the  young  girl,  with  a  start,  suddenly  realized  that 
she  had  seen  him  not  for  the  first  time  that  day — 
but  where  ? — when  ?  Through  the  growing  perplexity 
of  her  thoughts  she  heard  the  voice  of  her  compan- 
ion 

"Why  don't  you  hitch  up  the  grays  ?" 

"There  are  no  horses  in  the  barn,"  came  the  an- 
swer. 

"Strange,  the  care-taker  did  not  tell  me  they  had 
been  taken  away !"  commented  the  other,  hastily,  step- 
ping from  the  window  as  the  driver  vanished  once 
more  into  the  barn.  "I  am  sorry,  but  there  seems  no 
alternative  but  to  wait — at  leas^  until  I  can  send  for 
others." 

She  continued  to  gaze  toward  the  door  through 
which  the  man  had  disappeared.  She  could  place  him 
now,  although  his  livery  had  been  discarded  for 
shabby  clothes;  she  recalled  him  distinctly  in  spite  of 
this  changed  appearance. 

"Why  not  make  the  best  of  it?"  said   Mauville, 


LITTLE   THUNDER  161 

softly,  but  with  glance  sparkling  in  spite  of  himself. 
"After  all,  are  you  not  giving  yourself  needless  ap- 
prehensions? You  are  at  home  here.  Anything  you 
wish  shall  be  yours.  Consider  yourself  mistress;  me, 
6ne  of  your  servants!" 

Almost  imperceptibly  his  manner  had  changed.  In- 
stinctive misgivings  which  had  assailed  her  in  the  coach 
with  him  now  resolved  themselves  into  assured  fears. 
Something  she  could  not  explain  had  aroused  her 
suspicions  before  they  reached  the  manor,  but  his 
words  had  glossed  these  inward  qualms,  and  a  feeling 
of  obligation  suggested  trust,  not  shrinking ;  but,  with 
his  last  words,  a  full  light  illumined  her  faculties ;  an 
association  of  ideas  revealed  his  intent  and  perform- 
ance. 

"It  was  you,  then,"  she  said,  slowly,  studying  him 
with  steady,  penetrating  glance. 

"You !"  she  repeated,  with  such  contempt  that  he 
was  momentarily  disconcerted.  "The  man  in  the 
carriage — he  was  hired  by  you.  The  driver — his 
face  is  familiar.  I  remember  now  where  I  saw  him — 
in  the  Shadengo  Valley.  He  is  your  coachman.  Your 
rescue  was  planned  to  deceive  me.  It  deceived  even 
your  man.  He  had  not  expected  that.  Your  reassurr 
ing  me  was  false;  the  plan  to  change  horses  a  trick 
to  get  me  here — " 

"If  you  would  but  listen — " 

"When" — her  eyes  ablaze — "will  this  farce  end?" 

Her  words  took  him  unawares.  Not  that  he  dreaded 
the  betrayal  of  his  actual  purpose.  On  the  contrary, 


i62  THE   S  T  ROLLERS 

his  reckless  temper,  chafing  under  her  unexpected  ob- 
duracy, now  welcomed  the  opportunity  of  discarding 
the  disinterested  and  chivalrous  part  he  had  assumed. 

"When  it  ends  in  a  honeymoon,  ma  belle  Con- 
stance !"  he  said,  swiftly. 

His  sudden  words,  removing  all  doubts  as  to  his 
purpose,  awoke  such  repugnance  in  her  that  for  a  mo- 
ment aversion  was  paramount  to  every  other  feeling. 
Again  she  looked  without,  but  only  the  solitude  of  the 
fields  and  forests  met  her  glance. 

The  remoteness  of  the  situation  gave  the  very  bold- 
ness of  his  plan  feasibility.  Was  he  not  his  own  magis- 
trate in  his  own  province?  Why,  then,  he  had 
thought,  waste  the  golden  moments  ?  He  had  but  one 
heed  now ;  a  study  of  physical  beauty,  against  a  crim- 
son background. 

"To  think  of  such  loveliness  lost  in  the  wilderness !" 
he  said,  softly.  "The  gates  of  art  should  all  open  to 
you.  Why  should  you  play  to  rustic  bumpkins,  when 
the  world  of  fashion  would  gladly  receive  you  ?  I  am 
a  poor  prophet  if  you  would  not  be  a  success  in  town. 
It  is  not  always  easy  to  get  a  hearing,  to  procure  an 
audience,  but  means  could  be  found.  Soon  your  name 
would  be  on  every  one's  lips.  Your  art  is  fresh.  The 
jaded  world  likes  freshness.  The  cynical  town  runs 
to  artless  art  as  an  antidote  to  its  own  poison.  Most 
of  the  players  are  wrinkled  and  worn.  A  young  face 
will  seem  like  a  new-grown  white  rose." 

She  did  not  answer;  unresponsive  as  a  statue,  she 
did  not  move.  The  sun  shot  beneath  an  obstructing 


LITTLE   THUNDER  163 

branch,  and  long,  searching  shafts  found  access  to 
the  room.  Mauville  moved  forward  impetuously,  un- 
til he  stood  on  the  verge  of  the  sunlight  on  the  satin- 
wood  floor. 

"May  I  not  devote  myself  to  this  cause,  Constance?" 
he  continued.  "You  are  naturally  resentful  toward  me 
now.  But  can  I  not  show  you  that  I  have  your  welfare 
at  heart?  If  you  were  as  ambitious  as  you  are  attrac- 
tive, what  might  you  not  do?  Art  is  long;  our  days 
are  short ;  youth  flies  like  a  summer  day." 

His  glance  sought  hers  questioningly ;  still  no  reply ; 
only  a  wave  of  blood  surged  over  her  neck  and  brow, 
while  her  eyes  fell.  Then  the  glow  receded,  leaving 
her  white  as  a  snow  image. 

"Come,"  he  urged.  "May  I  not  find  for  you  those 
opportunities  ?" 

He  put  out  his  eager  hand  as  if  to  touch  her.  Then 
suddenly  the  figure  in  the  window  came  to  life  and 
shrank  back,  with  widely  opened  eyes  fixed  upon  his 
face.  His  gaze  could  not  withstand  hers,  man  of  the 
world  though  he  was,  and  his  free  manner  was  replaced 
by  something  resembling  momentary  embarrassment. 
Conscious  of  this  new  and  annoying  feeling,  his  ego- 
tism rose  in  arms,  as  if  protesting  against  the  novel 
sensation,  and  his  next  words  were  correspondingly 
violent. 

"Put  off  your  stage  manners !"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
are  here  at  my  pleasure.  It  was  no  whim,  my  carry- 
ing you  off.  After  you  left  I  went  to  the  manor,  where 
I  tried  to  forget  you.  But  nights  of  revelry— why 


164  THE   STROLLERS 

should  I  not  confess  it?— could  not  efface  your  mem- 
ory." His  voice  unconsciously  sank  to  unreserved 
candor.  "Your  presence  filled  these  halls.  I  could 
no  longer  say:  Why  should  I  trouble  myself  about 
one  who  has  no  thought  for  me?" 

Breathing  hard,  he  paused,  gazing  beyond  her,  as 
though  renewing  the  memories  of  that  period. 

"Learning  you  were  in  the  neighboring  town,"  He 
continued,  "I  went  there,  with  no  further  purpose  than 
to  see  you.  On  the  journey  perhaps  I  indulged  in 
foolish  fancies.  How  would  you  receive  me  ?  Would 
you  be  pleased;  annoyed?  So  I  tempted  my  fancy 
with  air-castles  like  the  most  unsophisticated  lover. 
But  you  had  no  word  of  welcome ;  scarcely  listened  to 
me,  and  hurried  away !  I  could  not  win  you  as  I  de- 
sired ;  the  next  best  way  was  this." 

He  concluded  with  an  impassioned  gesture,  his  gaze 
eagerly  seeking  the  first  sign  of  lenity  or  favor  on  her 
part,  but  his  confession  seemed  futile.  Her  eyes,  sug- 
gestive of  tender  possibilities,  expressed  now  but  cold- 
ness and  obduracy.  In  a  revulsion  of  feeling  he  forgot 
the  distance  separating  the  buskined  from  the  fashion- 
able world ;  the  tragic  scatterlings  from  the  conventions 
of  Vanity  Fair!  He  forgot  all  save  that  she  was  to 
him  now  the  one  unparagoned  entirety,  overriding 
other  memories. 

"Will  not  a  life  of  devotion  atone  for  this  day,  Con- 
stance?" he  cried.  "Do  you  know  how  far-reaching 
are  these  lands  ?  All  the  afternoon  you  drove  through 


LITTLE   THUNDER  165 

them,  and  they  extend  as  wide  in  the  other  direction. 
These — my  name — are  yours !" 

A  shade  of  color  swept  over  her  brow. 

"Answer  me,"  he  urged. 

"Drive  back  and  I  will  answer  you." 

"Drive  back  and  you  will  laugh  at  me,"  he  retorted, 
moodily.  "You  would  make  a  woman's  bargain  with 
me." 

"Is  yours  a  man's  with  me  ?"     Contemptuously. 

"What  more  can  I  do?" 

"Undo  what  you  have  done.     Take  me  back !" 

"I  would  cut  a  nice  figure  doing  that!  No;  you 
shall  stay  here." 

He  spoke  angrily;  her  disdain  at  his  proposal  not 
only  injured  his  pride  but  awoke  his  animosity.  On 
the  other  hand,  his  words  demonstrated  she  had  not 
improved  her  own  position.  If  he  meant  to  keep  her 
there  he  could  do  so,  and  opposition  made  him  only 
more  obstinate,  more  determined  to  press  his  advan- 
tage. Had  she  been  more  politic — Juliana  off  the 
stage  as  well  as  on — she,  whose  artifice  was  glossed 
by  artlessness — 

Her  lashes  drooped;  her  attitude  became  less  ag- 
gressive; her  eyes,  from  beneath  their  dark  curtains, 
rested  on  him  for  a  moment.  What  it  was  in  that 
glance  so  effective  is  not  susceptible  to  analysis.  Was 
it  the  appeal  that  awakened  the  quixotic  sense  of 
honor ;  the  helplessness  arousing  compassion ;  the  irre- 
sistible quality  of  a  brimming  eye  so  fatal  to  mascu- 


166  -THE   STROLLERS 

line  calculation  and  positiveness  ?  Whatever  it  was, 
it  dispelled  the  contraction  on  the  land  baron's  face, 
and — despite  his  threats,  vows! — he  was  swayed  by 
a  look. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  tenderly. 

"You  will  drive  back?" 

"Yes;  I  will  win  you  in  your  own  way,  fairly  and 
honestly!  I  will  take  you  back,  though  the  whole 
country  laughs  at  me.  Win  or  lose,  back  we  go,  for 
— I  love  you!"  And  impetuously  he  threw  his  arm 
around  her  waist. 

Simulation  could  not  stand  the  test ;  it  was  no  longer 
acting,  but  reality;  she  had  set  herself  to  a  role  she 
could  not  perform.  Hating  him  for  that  free  touch, 
she  forcibly  extricated  herself  with  an  exclamation 
and  an  expression  of  countenance  there  was  no  mistak- 
ing. From  Mauville's  face  the  glad  light  died;  he 
regarded  her  once  more  cruelly,  vindictively. 

"You  dropped  the  mask  too  soon,"  he  said,  coldly. 
"I  was  not  prepared  for  rehearsal,  although  you  were 
perfect.  You  are  even  a  better  actress  than  I  thought 
you,  than  which" — mockingly — "I  can  pay  you  no 
better  compliment." 

She  looked  at  him  with  such  scorn  he  laughed, 
though  his  eyes  flashed. 

"Bravo!"  he  exclaimed. 

While  thus  confronting  each  other  a  footfall  sounded 
without,  the  door  burst  open,  and  the  driver  of  the 
coach,  with  features  drawn  by  fear,  unceremoniously 
entered  the  room.  The  patroon  turned  on  him  en- 


LITTLE   THUNDER  167 

raged,  but  the  latter  without  noticing  his  master's  dis- 
pleasure, exclaimed  hurriedly : 

"The  anti-renters  are  coming!" 

>  The  actress  uttered  a  slight  cry  and  stepped  toward 
the  window,  when  she  was  drawn  back  by  an  irresisti- 
ble force. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  a  hard  voice,  from  which  all 
passing  compunction  had  vanished.  "Be  kind  enough 
to  come  with  me." 

"I  will  follow  you,  but — "  Her  face  expressed  the 
rest. 

"This  way  then !" 

He  released  her  and  together  they  mounted  the 
stairway.  For  a  long  time  a  gentle  footfall  had  not 
passed  those  various  landings ;  not  since  the  ladies  in 
hoops,  with  powdered  hair,  had  ascended  or  descend- 
ed, with  attendant  cavaliers,  bewigged,  beruffled,  be- 
dizened. The  land  baron  conducted  his  companion 
to  a  distant  room  up  stairs,  the  door  of  which  he 
threw  open. 

"Go  in  there,"  he  said  curtly.          • 

She  hesitated  on  the  threshold.  So  remote  was  it 
from  the  main  part  of  the  great  manor,  the  apartment 
had  all  the  requirements  of  a  prison. 

"You  needn't  fear,"  he  continued,  reading  her 
thoughts.  "I'm  not  going  to  be  separated  from  you 
— yet !  But  we  can  see  what  is  going  on  here." 

Again  she  mutely  obeyed  him,  and  entered  the  room. 
It  was  a  commodious  apartment,  where  an  excellent 
view  was  offered  of  the  surrounding  country  on  three 


i68  THE   STROLLERS 

sides.  But  looking  from  the  window  to  discern  his 
assailants,  Mauville  could  see  nothing  save  the  fields 
and  openings,  fringed  by  the  dark  groves.  The  out- 
houses and  barns  were  but  dimly  outlined,  while  scat- 
tered trees  here  and  there  dotted  the  open  spaces 
with  small,  dark  patches.  A  single  streak  of  red  yet 
lingered  in  the  west.  A  tiny  spot,  moving  through 
the  obscurity,  proved  to  be  a  cow,  peacefully  wander- 
ing over  the  dewy  grass.  The  whirring  sound  of  a 
diving  night-hawk  gave  evidence  that  a  thing  of  life 
was  inspecting  the  scene  from  a  higher  point  of  vant- 
age. 

From  that  narrow,  dark  crimson  ribbon,  left  behind 
by  the  flaunting  sun,  a  faint  reflection  entered  the  great 
open  windows  of  the  chamber  and  revealed  Mauville 
gazing  without,  pistol  in  hand;  Constance  leaning 
against  the  curtains  and  the  driver  of  the  coach  stand- 
ing in  the  center  of  the  room,  quaking  inwardly  and 
shaking  outwardly.  This  last-named  had  found  an 
old  blunderbuss  somewhere,  useful  once  undoubtedly, 
but  of  questionable  service  now. 

Meanwhile  Oly-koeks  had  not  returned.  Having 
faithfully  closed  and  locked  all  the  iron  shutters,  he 
had  crept  out  of  a  cellar  window  and  voluntarily  re- 
signed as  care-taker  of  the  manor,  with  its  burden  of 
dangers  and  vexations.  With  characteristic  prudence, 
he  had  timed  the  period  of  his  departure  with  the  be- 
ginning of  the  end  in  the  fortunes  of  the  old  patroon 
principality.  The  storm-cloud,  gathering  during  the 
life  of  Mauville's  predecessor,  was  now  ready  to  burst, 


LITTLE   THUNDER  169 

the  impending  catastrophe  hastened  by  the  heir's  want 
of  discretion  and  his  failure  to  adjust  difficulties  ami- 
cably. That  small  shadow,  followed  by  a  smaller 
shadow,  passing  through  the  field,  were  none  other 
than  Oly-koeks  and  Oloffe,  who  grew  more  and  more 
imperceptible  until  they  were  finally  swallowed  up 
and  seemingly  lost  forever  in  the  darkness  of  the  fringe 
of  the  forest. 

A  branch  of  a  tree  grated  against  the  window  as 
Mauville  looked  out  over  the  peaceful  vale  to  the  rib- 
bon of  red  that  was  being  slowly  withdrawn  as  by  some 
mysterious  hand.  Gradually  this  adornment,  growing 
shorter  and  shorter,  was  wound  up  while  the  shadows 
of  the  out-houses  became  deeper  and  the  meadow  lands 
appeared  to  recede  in  the  distance.  As  he  scanned 
the  surrounding  garden,  the  land  baron's  eye  fell  upon 
an  indistinct  figure  stealing  slowly  across  the  sward  in 
the  partial  darkness.  This  object  was  immediately 
followed  by  another  and  yet  another.  To  the  obser- 
ver's surprise  they  wore  the  headgear  of  Indians. 

Suddenly  the  patroon  heard  the  note  of  the  whip- 
poorwill,  the  nocturnal  songster  that  mourns  unseen. 
It  was  succeeded  by  the  sharp  tones  of  a  saw-whet 
and  the  distinct  mew  of  a  cat-bird.  A  wild  pigeon 
began  to  coo  softly  in  another  direction  and  was  an- 
swered by  a  thrush.  The  listener  vaguely  realized 
that  all  this  unexpected  melody  came  from  the  Indians, 
who  had  by  this  time  surrounded  the  house  and  who 
took  this  method  of  communicating  with  one  another. 

An  interval  of  portentous  silence  was  followed  by  a 


i;o  THE   STROLLERS 

loud  knocking  at  the  front  door,  which  din  reverber- 
ated through  the  hall,  echoing  and  re-echoing  the  vig- 
orous summons.  Mauville  at  this  leaned  from  the 
window  and  as  he  did  so,  there  arose  a  hooting  from 
the  sward  as  though  bedlam  had  broken  loose.  Main- 
taining his  post,  the  heir  called  out : 

"What  do  you  want,  men?" 

At  these  words  the  demonstration  became  more 
turbulent,  and,  amid  the  threatening  hubbub,  voices 
arose,  showing  too  well  the  purpose  of  the  gathering. 
Aroused  to  a  fever  of  excitement  by  the  shooting  of 
the  tenants,  they  were  no  longer  skulking,  stealthy 
Indians,  but  a  riotous  assemblage  of  anti-renters,  ex- 
pressing their  determination  in  an  ominous  chorus : 

"Hang  the  land  baron !" 

In  the  midst  of  this  far  from  reassuring  uproar  a 
voice  arose  like  a  trumpet : 

"We  are  the  messengers  of  the  Lord,  made  strong  by 
His  wrath !" 

"You  are  the  messenger  of  the  devil,  Little  Thun- 
der," Mauville  shouted  derisively. 

A  crack  of  a  rifle  admonished  the  land  baron  that  the 
jest  might  have  cost  him  dear. 


CHAPTER    XIV 
THE   ATTACK   ON   THE   MANOR 

After  this  brief  hostile  outbreak  in  the  garden  below 
the  right  wing,  Mauville  prepared  to  make  as  effective 
defense  as  lay  in  his  power  and  looked  around  for  his 
aid,  the  driver  of  the  coach.  But  that  quaking  indi- 
vidual had  taken  advantage  of  the  excitement  to  dis- 
appear. Upon  hearing  the  threats,  followed  by  the 
singing  of  bullets,  and  doubting  not  the  same  treat- 
ment accorded  the  master  would  be  meted  out  to  the 
servant,  the  coachman's  fealty  so  oozed  from  him 
that  he  dropped  his  blunderbuss,  groping  his  way 
through  the  long  halls  to  the  cellar,  where  he 
concealed  himself  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner  beneath 
a  heap  of  potato  sacks.  In  that  vast  subterranean  place 
he  congratulated  himself  he  would  escape  with  a  whole 
skin,  his  only  regret  being  certain  unpaid  wage's  which 
he  considered  as  good  as  lost,  together  with  the  master 
who  owed  them. 

Mauville,  however,  would  have  little  regretted  the 
disappearance  of  this  poor-spirited  aid,  on  the  theory 
a  craven  follower  is  worse  than  none  at  all,  had  not  this 


172  THE    STROLLERS 

discovery  been  followed  quickly  by  the  realization  tfiat 
the  young  girl,  too,  had  availed  herself  of  the  opportu- 
nity while  he  was  at  the  window  and  vanished. 

"Why,  the  slippery  jade's  gone !"  he  exclaimed,  star- 
ing around  the  room,  confounded  for  the  moment. 
Then  recovering  himself,  he  hurriedly  left  the  cham- 
ber, more  apprehensive  lest  she  should  get  out  of  the 
manor  than  that  the  tenants  should  get  in. 

"She  can't  be  far  off,"  he  thought,  pausing  doubt- 
fully in  the  hall. 

For  the  moment  he  almost  forgot  the  anti-renters 
and  determined  to  find  her  at  all  hazard.  He  hastily 
traversed  the  upper  hall,  but  was  rewarded  with  no 
sight  of  her.  He  gazed  down  the  stairs  eagerly,  with 
no  better  result ;  the  front  door  was  still  closed,  as  he 
had  left  it.  Evidently  she  had  fled  toward  the  rear 
of  the  house  and  made  good  her  escape  from  one  of 
the  back  or  side  entrances. 

"Yes ;  she's  gone,"  he  repeated.  "What  a  fool  I  was 
to  have  trusted  her  to  herself  for  a  moment !" 

A  new  misgiving  arose,  and  he  started.  What  if 
she  had  succeeded  in  leaving  the  manor?  He  knew 
and  distrusted  Little  Thunder  and  his  cohorts.  What 
respect  would  they  have  for  her  ?  For  all  he  had  done, 
it  was,  nevertheless,  intolerable  to  think  she  might  be 
in  possible  danger — from  others  save  himself !  A  wave 
of  compunction  swept  over  him.  After  all,  he  loved 
her,  and,  loving  her,  could  not  bear  to  think  of  any 
calamity  befalling  her.  He  hated  her  for  tricking  him ; 


ATTACK   ON   THE   MANOR      173 

feared  for  her,  for  the  pass  to  which  he  had  brought 
her;  cared  for  her  beyond  the  point  his  liking  had 
reached  for  any  other  woman.  A  mirthless  laugh 
escaped  him  as  he  stood  at  the  stairway  looking  down 
;the  empty  hall. 

"Surely  I've  gone  daft  over  the  stroller !"  he  thought, 
as  his  own  position  recurred  to  him  in  all  its  serious- 
ness. "Well,  what's  done  is  done !  Let  them  come !" 
His  eyes  gleamed. 

With  no  definite  purpose  of  searching  further,  he 
nevertheless  walked  mechanically  down  the  corridor 
toward  the  other  side  of  the  manor  and  suddenly,  to 
his  surprise  and  satisfaction,  discerned  Constance  in 
a  blind  passage,  where  she  had  inadvertently  fled. 

At  the  end  of  this  narrow  hall  a  window  looked  al- 
most directly  out  upon  the  circular,  brick  dove-cote, 
now  an  indistinct  outline,  and  on  both  sides  were 
doors,  one  of  which  she  was  vainly  endeavoring  to 
open  when  he  approached.  Immediately  she  desisted 
in  her  efforts;  flushed  and  panting,  she  stood  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  passage.  Quiet,  unbroken  save 
for  the  cooing  in  the  cote,  had  succeeded  the  first  noisy 
demonstration ;  the  anti-renters  were  evidently  arrang- 
ing their  forces  to  prevent  the  land  baron's  escape  or 
planning  an  assault  on  the  manor. 

In  his  momentary  satisfaction  at  finding  her,  Mau- 
ville  overlooked  the  near  prospect  of  a  more  lengthy, 
if  not  final,  separation,  and  surveyed  the  young  girl 
with  a  sudden,  swift  joyousness,  but  the  fear  and  dis- 


174  THE   STROLLERS 

trust  written  on  her  features  dissipated  his  concern 
for  her ;  his  best  impulses  were  smothered  by  harsher 
feelings. 

"Unfortunately,  the  door  is  locked,"  he  said,  iron- 
ically. "Meanwhile,  as  this  spot  has  no  strategic  ad- 
vantages, suppose  we  change  our  base  of  defense  ?" 

Realizing  how  futile  would  be  resistance,  she  accom- 
panied him  once  more  to  the  chamber  in  the  wing, 
where  he  had  determined  to  make  his  last  defense. 
After  closing  and  locking  the  door,  he  lighted  one  of 
many  candles  on  the  mantel.  The  uncertain  glow 
from  the  great  candelabra,  covered  with  dust,  like  the 
white  marble  itself,  and  evidently  placed  there  many 
years  before,  revealed  faded  decorations  and  a  ceiling, 
water-stained  as  from  a  defective  roof.  Between  the 
windows,  with  flowery  gilt  details,  an  ancient  mirror 
extended  from  floor  to  ceiling.  A  musty  smell  per- 
vaded the  apartment,  for  Mynheer,  the  Patroon,  had 
lived  so  closely  to  himself  that  he  had  shut  out  both 
air  and  sunlight  from  his  rooms. 

The  flickering  glare  fell  upon  the  young  actress 
standing,  hand  upon  her  heart,  listening  with  bated 
breath,  and  Mauville,  with  ominous  expression,  brood- 
ing over  that  chance  which  sent  the  lease-holders  to 
the  manor  on  that  night  of  nights.  It  was  intolera- 
ble that  no  sooner  had  she  crossed  his  threshold  than 
they  should  appear,  ripe  for  any  mischief,  not  only 
seeking  his  life,  but  wresting  happiness  from  his  very 
lips.  For,  of  the  outcome  he  could  have  little  doubt, 


ATTACK   ON. THE   MANOR      175 

although  determined  to  sell  dearly  that  which  they 
sought. 

The  violent  crash  of  a  heavy  body  at  the  front  of 
the  house  and  a  tumult  of  voices  on  the  porch,  suc- 
ceeded by  a  din  in  the  hall,  announced  that  the  first  bar- 
rier had  been  overcome  and  the  anti-renters  were  in 
possession  of  the  lower  floor  of  the  manor.  Mauville 
had  started  toward  the  door,  when  the  anticipation  in 
the  young  girl's  eyes  held  him  to  the  spot.  Inacces- 
sible, she  was  the  more  desired;  her  reserve  was  fuel 
to  his  flame,  and,  at  that  moment,  while  his  life  hung 
in  the  balance,  he  forgot  the  rebuff  he  had  received  and 
how  she  had  nearly  played  upon  him. 

Words  fell  from  his  lips,  unpremeditated,  eloquent, 
voicing  those  desires  which  had  grown  in  the  solitude 
of  the  manor.  Passionately  he  addressed  her,  knowing 
the  climax  to  his  difficulties  was  at  hand.  Once  near 
her,  he  could  not  be  at  peace  without  her,  he  vowed, 
and  this  outcome  had  been  inevitable.  All  this  he  ut- 
tered impetuously,  at  times  incoherently,  but  as  he  con- 
cluded, she  only  clasped  her  hands  helplessly,  solely 
conscious  of  the  uproar  below  which  spread  from  the 
main  hall  to  the  adjoining  rooms. 

"They  are  coming — they  are  coming !"  she  said,  and 
Mauville  stopped  short. 

But  while  anger  and  resentment  were  at  strife 
within  him,  some  one  tried  the  door  of  the  chamber 
and  finding  it  locked,  set  up  a  shout.  Immediately 
the  prowlers  in  the  wings,  the  searchers  in  the  kitchen 
and  all  the  stragglers  below  congregated  in  the  main 


176  THE   STROLLERS 

hall ;  footsteps  were  heard  ascending  rapidly,  pausing 
in  doubt  at  the  head  of  the  stairway,  not  knowing 
whether  to  turn  to  the  right  or  to  the  left. 

"Here  they  are !"  called  out  the  man  at  the  door. 

"You  meddlesome  fool!"  exclaimed  Mauville,  lift- 
ing a  revolver  and  discharging  it  in  the  direction  of 
the  voice.  Evidently  the  bullet,  passing  through  the 
panel  of  the  door,  found  its  mark,  for  the  report  was 
followed  by  a  cry  of  pain. 

This  plaint  was  answered  from  the  distance  and 
soon  a  number  of  anti-renters  hastened  to  the  spot. 
Mauville,  in  vicious  humor,  moved  toward  the  thresh- 
old. One  of  the  panels  was  already  broken  and  an 
arm  thrust  into  the  opening.  The  land  baron  bent 
forward  and  coolly  clapped  his  weapon  to  the  member, 
the  loud  discharge  being  succeeded  by  a  howl  from  the 
wounded  lease-holder.  Mauville  again  raised  his 
weapon  when  an  exclamation  from  the  actress  caused 
him  to  turn  quickly,  in  time  to  see  a  figure  spring  un- 
expectedly into  the  room  from  the  balcony.  The  land 
baron  stood1  in  amazement,  eying  the  intruder  who 
had  appeared  so  suddenly  from  an  unguarded  quarter, 
but  before  he  could  recover  his  self-possession,  his 
hand  was  struck  heavily  and  the  revolver  fell  with  a 
clatter  to  the  floor. 

His  assailant  quickly  grasped  trie  weapon,  present- 
ing it  to  the  breast  of  the  surprised  land-owner,  who 
looked,  not  into  the  face  of  an  unknown  anti-renter* 
but  into  the  stern,  familiar  countenance  of  Saint- 
Prosper. 


CHAPTER    XV 

A   HASTY  EXIT 

The  afternoon  following  the  soldier's  departure 
from  the  patroon  village  went  by  all  too  slowly,  his 
jaded  horse's  feet  as  heavy  as  the  leaden  moments. 
That  he  had  not  long  since  overtaken  the  coach  was 
inexplicable,  unless  Susan  had  been  a  most  tardy  mes- 
senger. True,  at  the  fork  of  the  road  he  had  been  mis- 
led, but  should  before  this  have  regained  what  he  had 
lost,  unless  he  was  once  more  on  the  wrong  thorough- 
fare. As  night  fell,  the  vastness  of  the  new  world 
impressed  the  soldier  as  never  before;  not  a  creature 
had  he  met  since  leaving  the  patroon  village ;  she  whom 
he  sought  might  have  been  swallowed  up  in  the  im- 
mensity of  the  wilderness.  For  the  first  time  his 
task  seemed  as  if  it  might  be  to  no  purpose;  his  con- 
fidence of  the  morning  had  gradually  been  replaced  by 
consuming  anxiety.  He  reproached  himself  that  he 
had  not  pressed  his  inquiries  further  at  the  patroon 
village,  but  realized  it  was  now  too  late  for  regrets; 
go  on  he  must  and  should. 

Along  the  darkening  road  horse  and  rider  continued 
(177) 


178  THE   STROLLERS 

their  way.  Only  at  times  the  young  man  pulled  at 
the  reins  sharply,  as  the  animal  stumbled  from  sheer 
weariness.  With  one  hand  he  stroked  encouragingly 
the  foam-flecked  arch  of  the  horse's  neck;  the  other, 
holding  the  reins,  was  clenched  like  a  steel  glove. 
Leaving  the  brow  of  a  hill,  the  horseman  expectantly 
fixed  his  gaze  ahead,  when  suddenly  on  his  right,  a 
side  thoroughfare  lay  before  him.  As  he  drew  rein 
indecisively  at  the  turn,  peering  before  him  through 
the  gathering  darkness,  a  voice  from  the  trees  called 
out  unexpectedly : 

"Hitch  up  in  here !" 

At  this  peremptory  summons  the  soldier  gazed 
quickly  in  the  direction  of  the  speaker.  Through  the 
grove,  where  the  trees  were  so  slender  and  sparsely 
planted  the  eye  could  penetrate  the  thicket,  he  saw  a 
band  of  horsemen  dismounting  and  tying  their  ani- 
mals. There  was  something  unreal,  grotesque  even, 
in  their  appearance,  but  it  was  not  until  one  of  their 
number  stepped  from  the  shadow  of  the  trees 
into  the  clearer  light  of  the  road  that  he  discerned 
their  head-dress  and  garb  to  be  that  of  Indians. 
Recalling  all  he  had  heard  of  the  masquerading,  ma- 
rauding excursions  of  the  anti-renters,  the  soldier  at 
once  concluded  he  had  encountered  a  party  of  them, 
bent  upon  some  nefarious  expedition.  That  he  was 
taken  for  one  of  their  number  seemed  equally  evident. 

"Come!"  called  out  the  voice  again,  impatiently. 
"The  patroon  is  at  the  manor  with  his  city  trollop.  It's 
time  we  were  moving." 


A   HASTY   EXIT  179 

An  exclamation  fell  from  the  soldier's  lips.  The 
patroon  ! — his  ill-disguised  admiration  for  the  actress ! 
— his  abrupt  reappearance  the  night  of  the  temperance 
drama !  Any  uncertainty  Saint-Prosper  might  have 
felt  regarding  the  identity  of  him  he  sought,  or  the 
reason  for  that  day's  work,  now  became  compelling 
certitude.  But  for  the  tenants,  he  might  have  ridden 
by  the  old  patroon  house.  As  it  was,  congratulating 
himself  upon  this  accidental  meeting  rather  than  his 
own  shrewdness,  he  quickly  dismounted.  A  moment's 
thought,  and  he  followed  the  lease-holders. 

In  the  attack  on  the  manor,  his  purpose,  apart 
from  theirs,  led  him  to  anticipate  the  general 
movement  of  the  anti-renters  in  front  of  the  house 
and  to  make  his  way  alone,  aided  by  fortuitous  circum- 
stances, to  the  room  where  the  land  baron  had  taken 
refuge.  As  he  sprang  into  this  chamber  the  young 
girl's  exclamation  of  fear  was  but  the  prelude  to  an 
expression  of  gladness,  while  Mauville's  consterna- 
tion when  he  found  himself  disarmed  and  powerless, 
was  as  great  as  his  surprise.  For  a  moment,  there- 
fore, in  his  bearing  bravado  was  tempered  with  hesi- 
tancy. 

"You  here?"  stammered  the  land  baron,  as  he  in- 
voluntarily recoiled  from  his  own  weapon. 

The  soldier  contemptuously  thrust  the  revolver  into 
his  pocket.  "As  you  sec,"  he  said  coldly,  "and  in  a 
moment,  they" — indicating  the  door — "will  be  here!" 

"You  think  to  turn  me  over  to  them !"  exclaimed  the 
other  violently.  "But  you  do  not  know  me !  This  is 


180  THE    STROLLERS 

no  quarrel  of  yours.  Give  me  my  weapon,  and  let  me 
fight  it  out  with  them !" 

The  soldier's  glance  rested  for  a  moment  on  the 
young  girl  and  his  face  grew  stern  and  menacing. 

"By  heaven,  I  am  half-minded  to  take  you  at  your 
word !  But  you  shall  have  one  chance — a  slender  one ! 
There  is  the  window;  it  opens  on  the  portico!" 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"They  have  brought  a  rope  with  them.  Go,  or 
hang!" 

The  heir  hesitated,  but  as  he  pondered,  the  anti- 
renters  were  effectually  shattering  the  heavy  door, 
regaling  themselves  with  threats  taught  them  by  the 
politicians  who  had  advocated  their  cause  on  the 
stump,  preached  it  in  the  legislature,  or  grown  elo- 
quent over  it  in  the  constitutional  assembly. 

"The  serfs  are  here!  The  drawers  of  water  and 
hewers  of  wood  have  arisen !  Hang  the  land  baron ! 
Hang  the  feudal  lord !" 

A  braver  man  than  Mauville  might  have  been  cowed 
by  that  chorus.  But  after  pausing  irresolutely,  weigh- 
ing the  chances  of  life  and  death,  gazing  jealously 
upon  the  face  of  the  apprehensive  girl,  and  venom- 
ously at  the  intruder,  the  heir  finally  made  a  virtue  of 
necessity  and  strode  to  the  window.  With  conflict- 
ing emotions  struggling  in  his  mind — fury  toward  the 
lease-holders,  hatred  for  the  impassive  mediator — he 
yet  regained,  in  a  measure,  an  outwardly  calm  bearing. 

"It's  a  poor  alternative,"  he  said,  shortly,  flashing  a 


A   HASTY   EXIT  181 

last  glance  at  the  actress.  "But  it's  the  best  that  of- 
fers !" 

So  saying,  he  sprang  upon  the  balcony — none  too 
s^on,  for  a  moment  later  the  door  burst  open  and  an 
incongruous  element  rushed  into  the  room.  Many 
were  attired  in  outlandish  head-dresses,  embroidered 
moccasins  and  fringed  jackets,  their  faces  painted  in 
various  hues,  but  others,  of  a  bolder  spirit,  had  dis- 
dained all  subterfuge  of  disguise.  Not  until  then  did 
the  soldier  discover  that  he  had  overlooked  the  possible 
unpleasantness  of  remaining  in  the  land  baron's  stead, 
for  the  anti-renters  promptly  threw  themselves  upon 
him,  regardless  of  his  companion.  The  first  to  grapple 
with  him  was  a  herculean,  thick-ribbed  man,  of  ex- 
traordinary stature,  taller  than  the  soldier,  if  not  so 
well-knit;  a  Goliath,  indeed,  as  Scroggs  had  deemed 
him,  with  arms  long  as  windmills. 

"Stand  back,  lads,"  he  roared,  "and  let  me  throw 
him!"  And  Dick,  the  tollman,  rushed  at  Saint-Pros- 
per with  furious  attack ;  soon  they  were  chest  to  chest, 
each  with  his  chin  on  his  opponent's  right  shoulder, 
and  each  grasping  the  other  around  the  body  with 
joined  hands. 

Dick's  muscles  grew  taut,  like  mighty  whip-cords; 
his  chest  expanded  with  power ;  he  girded  his  loins  for 
a  great  effort,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  make 
good  his  boast.  Held  in  the  grasp  of  those  arms, 
tight  as  iron  bands,  the  soldier  staggered.  Once  more 
the  other  heaved  and  again  Saint-Prosper  nearly  fell, 
his  superior  agility  alone  saving  him. 


182  THE   STROLLERS 

Then  slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  the  soldier  man- 
aged to  face  to  the  right,  twisting  so  as  to  place  his 
left  hip  against  his  adversary — his  only  chance;  a 
trick  of  wrestling  unknown  to  his  herculean,  but 
clumsy  opponent.  Gathering  all  his  strength  in  a  last 
determined  effort,  he  stooped  forward  suddenly  and 
lifted  in  his  turn.  One  portentous  moment — a  mo- 
ment of  doubt  and  suspense — and  the  proud  repre- 
sentative of  the  barn-burners  was  hurled  over  the 
shoulder  of  the  soldier,  landing  with  a  crash  on  the 
floor  where  he  lay,  dazed  and  immovable. 

Breathing  hard,  his  chest  rising  and  falling  with 
labored  effort,  Saint-Prosper  fell  back  against  the  wall. 
The  anti-renters  quickly  recovering  from  their  sur- 
prise, gave  him  no  time  to  regain  his  strength,  and 
the  contest  promised  a  speedy  and  disastrous  conclu- 
sion for  the  soldier,  when  suddenly  a  white  figure 
flashed  before  him,  confronting  the  tenants  with  pale 
face  and  shining  eyes.  A  slender  obstacle;  only  a 
girlish  form,  yet  the  fearlessness  of  her  manner,  the 
eloquence  of  her  glance — for  her  lips  were  silent! — 
kept  them  back  for  the  instant. 

But  fiercer  passions  were  at  work  among  them,  the 
desire  for  retaliation  and  bitter  hatred  of  the  patroon, 
which  speedily  dissipated  any  feeling  of  compunction 
or  any  tendency  to  waver. 

"Kill  him  before  his  lady  love!"  cried  a  piercing 
voice  from  behind.  "Did  they  not  murder  my  hus- 
band before  me  ?  Kill  him,  if  you  are  men !" 

And  pressing  irresistibly  to  the  front  appeared  the 


A   HASTY   EXIT  183 

woman  whose  husband  had  been  shot  by  the  deputies. 
Her  features,  once  soft  and  matronly,  flamed  with 
uncontrollable  passions. 

^  "Are  only  the  poor  to  suffer  ?"  she  continued,  as  her 
burning  eyes  fell  on  the  young  girl.  "Shall  she  not 
feel  what  I  did?" 

"Back  woman !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  barn-burners, 
sternly.  "This  is  no  place  for  you." 

"Who  has  a  better  right  to  be  here?"  retorted  the 
woman. 

"But  this  is  not  woman's  work !" 

"Woman's  work!"  Fiercely.  "As  much  woman's 
work  as  for  his  trull  to  try  to  save  him!  Oh,  let  me 
see  him !" 

Gently  the  soldier,  now  partly  recovering  his 
strength,  thrust  the  young  girl  behind  him,  as  push- 
ing to  the  foreground  the  woman  regarded  him  venge- 
fully.  But  in  her  eyes  the  hatred  and  bitter  aversion 
faded  slowly,  to  be  replaced  by  perplexity,  which  in 
turn  gave  way  to  wonder,  while  the  uplifted  arm, 
raised  threateningly  against  him,  fett  passively  to  her 
side.  At  first,  astonished,  doubting,  she  did  not  speak, 
.then  her  lips  moved  mechanically. 

"That  is  not  the  land  baron,"  she  cried,  staring  at 
him  in  disappointment  that  knew  no  language. 

"The  woman  is  right,"  added  a  masquerader.  "I 
know  Mauville,  too,  for  he  told  me  to  go  to  the  devil 
when  I  asked  him  to  wait  for  his  rent." 

At  this  unexpected  announcement,  imprecations  and 
murmurs  of  incredulity  were  heard  on  all  sides. 


1 84  THE   STROLLERS 

"Woman,  would  you  shield  your  husband's  mur- 
derer?" exclaimed  an  over-zealous  barn-burner. 

"Shield  him!"  she  retorted,  as  if  aroused  from  a 
trance.  "No,  no!  I'm  not  here  for  that!  But  this 
is  not  the  patroon.  His  every  feature  is  burned  into 
my  heart!  I  tell  you  it  is  not  he.  Yet  he  should  be 
here.  Did  I  not  see  him  driving  toward  the  manor  ?" 
And  she  gazed  wildly  around. 

For  a  moment,  following  this  impassioned  outburst, 
their  rough  glances  sought  one  another's,  and  the  sol- 
dier quickly  took  advantage  of  this  cessation  of  hos- 
tilities. 

"No ;  I  am  not  the  land  baron,"  he  interposed. 

"You  aren't?"  growled  a  disappointed  lease-holder. 
"Then  who  the  devil  are  you?  An  anti-renter?"  he 
added,  suspiciously. 

"He  must  be  an  enemy  of  the  land  baron,"  inter- 
rupted the  woman,  passing  her  hand  across  her  brow. 
"He  was  with  us  in  the  grove.  I  saw  him  ride  up  and 
took  him  to  be  a  barn-burner.  He  crossed  the 
meadow  with  us.  •  I  saw  his  face ;  distinctly  as  I  see  it 
now!  He  asked  me  about  the  patroon — yes,  I  re- 
member now ! — and  what  was  she  like,  the  woman  who 
was  with  him !" 

"I  am  no  friend  of  his,"  continued  the  soldier  in  a 
firm  voice.  "You  had  one  purpose  in  seeking  him; 
I,  another !  He  carried  off  this  lady.  I  was  follow- 
ing him,  when  I  met  you  in  the  grove." 

"Then  how  came  you  here — in  this  room?" 


A   HASTY   EXIT  185 

"By  the  way  of  a  tree,  the  branch  of  whichi  reaches 
to  the  window." 

"The  land  baron  was  in  this  room  a  moment  ago. 
Where  is  he  now  ?" 

For  answer  Saint-Prosper  pointed  to  the  window. 

"Then  you  let  him — " 

"We're  wasting  time,"  impatiently  shouted  the  barn- 
burner who  had  disclaimed  the  soldier's  identity  to 
the  patroon.  "Come!"  With  an  oath.  "Do  you 
want  to  lose  him  after  all?  He  can't  be  far  away. 
And  this  one,  damn  him !  isn't  our  man !" 

For  a  second  the  crowd  wavered,  then  with  a  venge- 
ful shout  they  shot  from  the  room,  disappearing  as 
quickly  as  they  had  come.  Led  by  Little  Thunder, 
who,  being  a  man  of  peace,  had  discreetly  remained 
without,  they  had  reached  the  gate  in  their  headlong 
pursuit  when  they  were  met  by  a  body  of  horsemen, 
about  to  turn  into  the  yard  as  the  anti-renters  were 
hurrying  out.  At  sight  of  this  formidable  band,  the 
lease-holders  immediately  scattered.  Taken  equally 
by  surprise,  the  others  made  little  effort  to  intercept 
them  and  soon  they  had  vanished  over  field  and  down 
dell.  Then  the  horsemen  turned,-  rode  through  the 
avenue  of  trees,  and  drew  up  noisily  before  the  portico. 

From  their  window  the  soldier  and  his  companion 
observed  the  abrupt  encounter  at  the  entrance  of  the 
manor  grounds  and  the  dispersion  of  the  lease-holders 
like  leaves  before  the  autumn  gusts.  Constance,  who 
had  breathlessly  watched  the  flight  of  the  erstwhile 


186  THE   STROLLERS 

assailants,  felt  her  doubts  re-awakened  as  the  horse- 
men drew  up  before  the  door. 

"Are  they  coming  back?"  she  asked,  involuntarily 
clasping  the  arm  of  her  companion. 

She  who  had  been  so  courageous  and  self -controlled 
throughout  that  long,  trying  day,  on  a  sudden  felt 
strangely  weak  and  dependent.  He  leaned  from  the 
narrow  casement  to  command  the  view  below,  striv- 
ing to  pierce  the  gloom,  and  she,  following  his*  exam- 
ple, gazed  over  his  shoulder.  Either  a  gust  of  air 
had  extinguished  the  light  in  the  candelabra  on  the 
mantel,  or  the  tallow  dip  had  burnt  itself  out,  for  the 
room  was  now  in  total  darkness  so  that  they  could 
dimly  see,  without  being  seen. 

"These  men  are  not  the  ones  who  just  fled,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"Then  who  are  they?"  she  half- whispered,  drawing 
unconsciously  closer  in  that  moment  of  jeopardy,  her 
face  distant  but  a  curl's  length. 

Below  the  men  were  dismounting,  tying  their  horses 
among  the  trees.  Like  a  noisy  band  of  troopers  they 
were  talking  excitedly,  but  their  words  were  indistin- 
guishable. 

"Why  do  you  suppose  they  fled  from  them?"  she 
continued. 

Was  it  a  tendril  of  the  vine  that  touched  his  cheek 
gently?  He  started,  his  face  toward  the  haze  in  the 
open  borderland. 

"Clearly  these  men  are  not  the  lease-holders.  They 
may  be  seeking  you." 


AHASTYEXIT  187 

She  turned  eagerly  from  the  window.  In  the  dark- 
ness their  hands  met.  Momentary  compunction  made 
her  pause. 

^"1  haven't  yet  thanked  you  1"  And  he  felt  the  cold, 
nervous  pressure  of  her  hands  on  his.  "You  must 
have  ridden  very  hard  and  very  far !" 

His  hand  closed  suddenly  upon  one  of  hers.  He 
was  not  thinking  of  the  ride,  but  of  how  she  had  placed 
herself  beside  him  in  his  moment  of  peril;  how  she 
had  held  them — not  long — but  a  moment — yet  long 
enough ! 

"They're  coming  in!  They're  down  stairs!"  she 
exclaimed  excitedly. 

A  flickering  light  below  suddenly  threw  dim  mov- 
ing shadows  upon  the  ceiling  of  the  hall.  As  she 
spoke  she  stepped  forward  and  stumbled  over  the  de- 
bris at  the  door.  His  arm  was  about  her,  almost  before 
the  startled  exclamation  had  fallen  from  her  lips;  for 
a  moment  her  shapely,  young  figure  rested  against 
him.  But  quickly  she  extricated  herself,  and  they 
picked  their  way  cautiously  over  the  bestrewn 
threshold  out  into  the  hall. 

At  the  balustrade,  they  paused.  Reconnoitering  at 
the  turn,  they  were  afforded  full  survey  of  the  lower 
hall  where  the  latest  comers  had  taken  possession. 
Few  in  numbers,  the  gathering  had  come  to  a  dead 
stop,  regarding  in  surprise  the  broken  door,  and  the 
furniture  wantonly  demolished.  But  amid  this  scene 
of  rack  and  ruin,  an  object  of  especial  wonder  to  the 


188  THE   STROLLERS 

newcomers  was  the  great  lifting-stone  lying  in  the 
hall  amid  the  havoc  it  had  wrought. 

"No  one  but  Dick,  the  tollman,  could  have  thrown 
that  against  the  door!"  said  a  little  man  who  seemed 
a  person  of  authority.  "I  wonder  where  the  patroon 
can  be  ?" 

With  unusual  pallor  of  face  the  young  girl  stepped 
from  behind  the  sheltering  post.  Her  hand,  resting 
doubtfully  upon  the  balustrade,  sought  in  unconscious 
appeal  her  companion's  arm,  as  they  descended  to- 
gether the  broad  steps.  In  the  partial  darkness  the 
little  man  ill  discerned  the  figures,  but  divined  their 
bearing  in  the  relation  of  outlines  limned  against  the 
obscure  background. 

"Why,"  he  muttered  in  surprise,  "this  is  not  the 
patroon !  And  here,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  the  lady 
Mr.  Barnes  is  so  anxious  about." 

"Mr.  Barnes — he  is  with  you  ?" 

It  was  Constance  that  spoke. 

"Yes;  but— " 

"Where  is  he?" 

"We  left  him  a  ways  down  the  road  and — " 

The  sound  of  a  horse's  hoof  beats  in  front  of  the 
manor,  breaking  in  on  this  explanation,  was  followed 
by  hurried  footsteps  upon  the  porch.  The  newcomer 
paused  on  the  threshold,  when,  with  an  exclamation 
of  joy,  Constance  rushed  to  him,  and  in  a  moment  was 
clasped  in  the  arms  of  the  now  jubilant  Barnes. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE  COUNCIL  AT  THE  TOWN  PUMP 

Next  morning  the  sun  had  made  but  little  progress 
in  the  heavens  and  the  dew  was  not  yet  off  the  grass 
when  the  party,  an  imposing  cavalcade,  issued  from 
the  manor  on  the  return  journey.  Their  home-com- 
ing was  uneventful.  The  barn-burners  had  disap- 
peared like  rabbits  in  their  holes;  the  manor  whose 
master  had  fled,  deserted  even  by  the  faithful  Oly- 
koeks,  was  seen  for  the  last  time  from  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  and  then,  with  its  gables  and  extensive  wings,  van- 
ished from  sight. 

"Well,"  remarked  Barnes  as  they  sped  down  the 
road,  "it  was  a  happy  coincidence  for  me  that  led  the 
anti-renters  to  the  patroon's  house  last  night." 

And  he  proceeded  to  explain  how  when  he  had 
sought  the  magistrate,  he  found  that  official  organiz- 
ing a  posse  comitatus  for  the  purpose  of  quelling  an 
anticipated  uprising  of  lease-holders.  In  answer  to 
the  manager's  complaint  the  custodian  of  the  law  had 
asserted  his  first  duty  was  generally  to  preserve  the 
peace ;  afterward,  he  would  attend  to  Barnes'  particu- 
(189) 


190  THE   STROLLERS 

lar  grievance.  Obliged  to  content  himself  as  best  he 
might  with  this  meager  assurance,  the  manager,  at  his 
wit's  end,  had  accompanied  the  party  whose  way  had 
led  them  in  the  direction  the  carriage  had  taken,  and 
whose  final  destination — an  unhoped-for  consumma- 
tion!— had  proved  the  ultimate  goal  of  his  own  de- 
sires. 

On  reaching,  that  afternoon,  the  town  where  they 
were  playing,  Susan  was  the  first  of  the  company  to 
greet  Constance. 

"Now  that  it's  all  over,"  she  laughed,  "I  rather 
envy  you  that  you  were  rescued  by  such  a  handsome 
cavalier." 

"Really,"  drawled  Kate,  "I  should  have  preferred 
not  being  rescued.  The  owner  of  a  coach,  a  coat  of 
arms,  silver  harness,  and  the  best  horses  in  the  coun- 
try !  I  could  drive  on  forever." 

But  later,  alone  with  Susan,  she  looked  hard  at  her : 

"So  you  fainted  yesterday  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  a  perfect  coward,"  returned  the  other, 
frankly. 

Kate's  mind  rapidly  swept  the  rough  and  troubled 
past;  the  hap-hazard  sea  upon  which  they  had  em- 
barked so  long  ago — 

"Dear  me !"  she  remarked  quietly,  and  Susan  turned 
to  conceal  a  blush. 

Owing  to  the  magistrate's  zeal  in  relating  the  story 
of  the  rescue,  the  players'  success  that  night  was  great. 

"The  hall  was  filled  to  overflowing,"  says  the  man- 
ager in  his  date  book.  "At  the  end  of  the  second  act, 


ATTHETOWNPUMP  191 

the  little  girl  was  called  out,  and  much  to  her  inward 
discomfiture  the  magistrate  presented  her  with  a  bou- 
quet and  the  audience  with  a  written  speech.  Taking 
advantage  of  the  occasion,  he  pointed  a  political  moral 
fiom  the  tale,  and  referred  to  his  own  candidacy  to 
the  legislature,  where  he  would  look  after  the  inter- 
ests of  the  rank  and  file.  It  was  time  the  land-owners 
were  taught  their  places — not  by  violence — Oh,  no — 
no  French  methods  for  Americans ! — by  ballot,  not  by 
bullet !  Let  the  people  vote  for  an  amendment  to  the 
constitution ! 

"As  we  were  preparing  to  leave  the  theater,  the 
magistrate  appeared  behind  the  scenes.  'Of  course, 
Mr.  Barnes,  you  will  appear  against  the  patroon?'  he 
said.  'His  prosecution  will  do  much  to  fortify  the 
issue.' 

"  'That  is  all  very  fine/  I  returned,  satirically.  'But 
will  the  Lord  provide  while  we  are  trying  the  case? 
Shall  we  find  miraculous  sustenance?  We  live  by 
moving  on,  sir.  One  or  two  nights  in  a  place ;  some- 
times, a  little  longer !  No,  no ;  'tis  necessary  to  forget, 
if  not  to  forgive.  You'll  have  to  fortify  your  issue 
without  us.' 

"  'Well,  well/  he  said,  good-naturedly,  'if  it's  against 
your  interests,  I  have  no  wish  to  press  the  matter.' 
Whereupon  we  shook  hands  heartily  and  parted.  I 
looked  around  for  Constance,  but  she  had  left  the  hall 
with  Saint-Prosper.  Have  I  been  wise  in  asking'him 
to  join  the  chariot?  I  sometimes  half  regret  we  are 
beholden  to  him — " 


192  THE   STROLLERS 

From  the  Shadengo  Valley  Barnes'  company  pro- 
ceeded by  easy  stages  to  Ohio,  where  the  roads  were 
more  difficult  than  any  the  chariot  had  yet  encoun- 
tered. On  every  hand,  as  they  crossed  the  country, 
sounded  the  refrains  of  that  memorable  song-cam- 
paign which  gave  to  the  state  the  fixed  sobriquet  of 
"Buckeye."  Drawing  near  the  capital,  where  the  con- 
vention was  to  be  held,  a  log  cabin,  on  an  enormous 
wagon,  passed  the  chariot.  A  dozen  horses  fanci- 
fully adorned  were  harnessed  to  this  novel  vehicle; 
flowers  over-ran  the  cabin-home,  hewn  from  the  buck- 
eye logs  of  the  forest  near  Marysville.  In  every  win- 
dow appeared  the  faces  of  merry  lads  and  lasses,  and, 
as  they  journeyed  on, their  chorus  echoed  over  field  and 
through  forest.  The  wood-cutter  leaned  on  his  ax  to 
listen;  the  plowman  waved  his  coonskin  cap,  his 
wife,  a  red  handkerchief  from  the  doorway  of  their 
log  cabin. 

"Oh,  tell  me  where  the  Buckeye  cabin  was  made? 
'Twas  built  among  the  boys  who  wield  the  plow  and  spade, 
Where  the  log-cabin  stands  in  the  bonnie  Buckeye  shade." 

From  lip  to  lip  the  song  had  been  carried,  until  the 
entire  country  was  singing  it,  and  the  log-cabin  had 
become  a  part  of  the  armorial  bearings  of  good  citizen- 
ship, especially  applicable  to  the  crests  of  presidents. 
Well  might  the  people  ask : 

"Oh,  what  has  caused  this  great  commotion 
All  the  country  through?" 


AT   THE   TOWN    PUMP  193 

which  the  ready  chorus  answered : 

'It  is  a  ball  a-rolling  on 

For  Tippecanoe  and  Tyler,  too!" 

4  The  least  of  the  strollers'  troubles  at  this  crucial 
period  of  their  wanderings  were  the  bad  roads  or  the 
effects  of  song  and  log-cabin  upon  the  "amusement 
world,"  the  greatest  being  a  temperance  orator  who 
thundered  forth  denunciations  of  rum  and  the  theater 
with  the  bitterness  of  a  Juvenal  inveighing  profligate 
Rome.  The  people  crowded  the  orator's  hall,  upon 
the  walls  of  which  hung  the  customary  banners : 
a  serpent  springing  from  the  top  of  a  barrel;  the 
steamboat,  Alcohol,  bursting  her  boiler  and  going  to 
pieces,  and  the  staunch  craft,  Temperance,  safe  and 
sound,  sailing  away  before  a  fair  wind.  With  perfect 
self-command,  gift  of  mimicry  and  dramatic  gestures, 
the  lecturer  swayed  his  audience ;  now  bubbling  over 
with  witty  anecdotes,  again  exercising  his  power  of 
graphic  portraiture.  His  elixir  vitae — animal  spirits 
— humanized  his  effort,  and,  as  Sir  Robert  Peel  played 
upon  the  House  of  Commons  "as  on  an  old  fiddle,"  so 
John  B.  Gough  (for  it  was  the  versatile  comic  singer, 
actor  and  speaker)  sounded  the  chords  of  that  homely 
gathering. 

Whatever  he  was,  "poet,  orator  and  dramatist,  an 
English  Gavazzi,"  or,  "mountebank,"  "humbug,"  or 
"backslider,"  Mr.  Gough  was,  even  at  that  early 
period,  an  antagonist  not  to  be  despised.  He  had  been 
out  of  pocket  and  out  at  the  elbows — indeed,  his  ward- 


194  THE    STROLLERS 

robe  now  was  mean  and  scanty ;  want  and  privation 
had  been  his  companions,  and,  from  his  grievous  ex- 
periences, he  had  become  a  sensational  story-teller  of 
low  life  and  penury.  Certainly  Barnes  had  reason  to 
lament  the  coincidence  which  brought  players  and  lect- 
urer into  town  at  the  same  time,  especially  as  the  lat- 
ter was  heralded  under  the  auspices  of  the  Band  of 
Hope. 

The  temperance  lectures  and  a  heavy  rain  combined 
to  the  undoing  of  the  strollers.  Majestically  the  dark 
clouds  rolled  up,  outspread  like  a  pall,  and  the  land 
lay  beneath  the  ban  of  a  persistent  downpour.  People 
remained  indoors,  for  the  most  part,  and  the  only 
signs  of  life  Barnes  saw  from  the  windows  of  the  hotel 
were  the  landlord's  Holderness  breed  of  cattle, 
mournfully  chewing  their  monotonous  cuds,  and  some 
Leicester  sheep,  wofully  wandering  in  the  pasture,  or 
huddled  together  like  balls  of  stained  cotton  beneath 
the  indifferent  protection  of  a  tree  amid  field. 

Exceptional  inducements  could  not  tempt  the  vil- 
lagers to  the  theater.  Even  an  epilogue  gained  for 
them  none  of  Mr.  Cough's  adherents.  "The  Tem- 
perance Doctor"  failed  miserably;  "Drunkard's 
Warning"  admonished  pitiably  few;  while  as  for 
"Drunkard's  Doom,"  no  one  cared  what  it  might  be 
and  left  him  to  it. 

After  such  a  disastrous  engagement  the  manager 
not  only  found  himself  at  the  end  of  his  resources,  but 
hopelessly  indebted,  and,  with  much  reluctance,  laid 
the  matter  before  the  soldier  who  had  already  advanced 


ATTHETOWNPUMP  195 

Barnes  a  certain  sum  after  their  conversation  on  the 
night  of  the  country  dance  and  had  also  come  to  his 
assistance  on  an  occasion  when  box-office  receipts 
and  expenses  had  failed  to  meet.  Moreover,  he 
had  been  a  free,  even  careless,  giver,  not  looking  after 
his  business  concerns  with  the  prudent  anxiety  of  a 
merchant  whose  ventures  are  ships  at  the  rude  mercy 
of  a  troubled  sea.  To  this  third  application,  however, 
he  did  not  answer  immediately. 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?"  he  said  at  length,  thought- 
fully. 

"Yes ;  it's  hard  to  speak  about  it  to  you,"  replied  the 
manager,  with  some  embarrassment,  "but  at  New 
Orleans—" 

The  soldier  encountered  his  troubled  gaze.  "See 
if  you  can  sell  my  horse,"  he  answered. 

"You  mean — "  began  the  other  surprised. 

"Yes." 

"Hanged  if  I  will !"  exclaimed  the  manager.  Then 
he  put  out  his  hand  impulsively.  "I  beg  your  pardon. 
If  I  had  known — but  if  we're  ever  out  of  this  mess, 
I  may  give  a  better  account  of  my  stewardship." 

Nevertheless,  his  plight  now  was  comparable  to  that 
of  the  strollers  of  old,  hunted  by  beadles  from  towns 
and  villages,  and  classed  as  gypsies,  vagabonds  and 
professed  itinerants  by  the  constables.  He  was  no 
better  served  than  the  mummers,  clowns,  jugglers,  and 
petty  chapmen  who,  wandering  abroad,  were  deemed 
rogues  and  sturdy  beggars.  Yet  no  king's  censor 
could  have  found  aught  "unchaste,  seditious  or  un- 


196  THE   STROLLERS 

mete"  in  Barnes'  plays;  no  cause  for  frays  or  quar- 
rels, arising  from  pieces  given  in  the  old  inn-yards ; 
no  immoral  matter,  "whatsoever  any  light  and  fan- 
tastical head  listeth  to  invent  or  devise;"  no  riotous 
actors  of  rollicking  interludes,  to  be  named  in  common 
with  fencers,  bearwards  and  vagrants. 

"Better  give  it  up,  Mr.  Barnes,"  said  a  remarkably 
sweet  and  sympathetic  voice,  as  the  manager  was 
standing  in  the  hotel  office,  turning  the  situation  over 
and  over  in  his  mind. 

Barnes,  looking  around  quickly  to  see  who  had  read 
his  inmost  thoughts,  met  the  firm  glance  of  his  antag- 
onist. 

"Mr.  Gough,  it  is  an  honor  to  meet  one  of  your 
talents,"  replied  the  manager,  "but" — with  an  attempt 
to  hide  his  concern — "I  shall  not  be  sorry,  if  we  do 
not  meet  again." 

"An  inhospitable  wish!"  answered  the  speaker,  fix- 
ing his  luminous  eyes  upon  the  manager.  "However, 
we  shall  probably  see  each  other  frequently." 

"The  Fates  forbid,  sir!"  said  Barnes,  earnestly. 
"If  you'll  tell  me  your  route,  we'll — go  the  other  way !" 

"It  won't  do,  Mr.  Barnes !  The  devil  and  the  flesh 
must  be  fairly  fought.  'Where  thou  goest' — You 
know  the  scriptural  saying  ?" 

"You'll  follow  us!"  exclaimed  the  manager  with 
sudden  consternation. 

The  other  nodded. 

"Why,  this  is  tyranny !  You  are  a  Frankenstein ; 
an  Old-Man-of-the  Sea !" 


AT   THE   TOWN   PUMP  197 

"Give  it  up,"  said  the  orator,  with  a  smile  that  singu- 
larly illumined  his  thin,  but  powerful  features.  "As 
I  gave  it  up!  Into  what  dregs  of  vice,  what  a  sink 
pf  iniquity  was  I  plunged!  The  very  cleansing  of 
my  soul  was  an  Augean  task.  Knavery,  profligacy, 
laxity  of  morals,  looseness  of  principles — that  was 
what  the  stage  did  for  me ;  that  was  the  labor  of  Her- 
cules to  be  cleared  away!  Give  it  up,  Mr.  Barnes!" 
And  with  a  last  penetrating  look,  he  strode  out  of  the 
office. 

In  spite  of  Barnes'  refusal,  the  soldier  offered  to 
sell  his  horse  to  the  landlord,  but  the  latter  curtly  de- 
clined, having  horses  enough  to  "eat  their  heads  off" 
during  the  winter,  as  he  expressed  it.  His  Jeremy 
Collier  aversion  to  players  was  probably  at  the  bottom 
of  this  point-blank  rebuff,  however.  He  was  a  stub- 
born man,  czar  in  his  own  domains,  a  small  principality 
bounded  by  four  inhospitable  walls.  His  guests — hav- 
ing no  other  place  to  go — were  his  subjects,  or  prison- 
ers, and  distress  could  not  find  a  more  unfitting  trib- 
unal before  which  to  lay  its  case.  There  was  some- 
thing so  malevolent  in  his  vigilance,  so  unfriendly 
in  his  scrutiny,  that  to  the  players  he  seemed  an 
emissary  of  disaster,  inseparable  from  their  cruel 
plight. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  strollers  perforce  reached  a 
desperate  conclusion  when  making  their  way  from 
the  theater  on  the  last  evening.  By  remaining  longer, 
they  would  become  the  more  hopelessly  involved;  in 
going — without  their  host's  permission — they  would 


198  THE   STROLLERS 

be  taking  the  shortest  route  toward  an  honorable  set- 
tlement in  the  near  future;  a  paradoxical  flight  from 
the  brunt  of  their  troubles,  to  meet  them  squarely! 
This,  to  Barnes,  ample  reason  for  unceremonious  de- 
parture was  heartily  approved  by  the  company  in 
council  assembled  around  the  town  pump. 

"Stay  and  become  a  county  burden,  indeed!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Adams,  tragically. 

"As  well  be  buried  alive  as  anchored  here!"  fret- 
fully added  Susan. 

"The  council  is  dissolved,"  said  the  manager, 
promptly,  "with  no  one  the  wiser — except  the  town 
pump." 

"An  ally  of  Mr.  Gough !"  suggested  Adonis. 

Thus  more  merrily  than  could  have  been  expected, 
with  such  a  distasteful  enterprise  before  them,  they 
resumed  their  way.  It  was  disagreeable  under  foot 
and  they  presented  an  odd  appearance,  each  one  with 
a  light.  Mrs.  Adams,  old  campaigner  that  she  was, 
led  the  way  for  the  ladies,  elastic  and  chatty  as  though 
promenading  down  Broadway  on  a  spring  morning. 
With  their  lanterns  and  the  purpose  they  had  in  view, 
they  likened  themselves  to  a  band  of  conspirators. 
As  Barnes  marched  ahead  with  his  light,  Susan  play- 
fully called  him  Guy  Fawkes,  of  gun-powder  fame, 
whereupon  his  mind  almost  misgave  him  concerning 
the  grave  adventure  upon  which  they  were  embarked. 

The  wind  was  blowing  furiously,  doors  and  windows 
creaked,  and  all  the  demons  of  unrest  were  moaning 
that  night  in  the  hubbub  of  sounds.  Save  for  a  flick- 


AT   THE   TOWN    PUMP  199 

ering  candle  in  the  hall,  the  tavern  was  dark,  and  land- 
lord and  maids  had  long  since  retired  to  rest.  Amid 
the  noise  of  the  rain  and  the  sobbing  of  the  wind, 
trunks  were  lowered  from  the  window;  the  chariot 
and  property  wagon  were  drawn  from  the  stable  yard 
and  the  horses  led  from  their  stalls.  In  a  trice  they 
were  ready  and  the  ladies,  wrapped  in  their  cloaks, 
were  in  the  coach.  But  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  the 
neighing  of  a  horse,  or  some  other  untoward  circum- 
stance, aroused  the  landlord;  a  window  in  the  second 
story  shot  up  and  out  popped  a  head  in  a  night-cap. 

"Here ! — What  are  you  about  ?"  cried  the  man. 

"Leaving!"  said  the  manager,  laconically. 

The  landlord  threw  up  his  arms  like  Shylock  at  the 
loss  of  his  money-bags. 

"The  reckoning!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  about  the 
reckoning  ?" 

"Your  pound  of  flesh,  sir !"  replied  Barnes. 

"My  score !  My  score !"  shouted  the  other.  "You 
would  not  leave  without  settling  it !" 

"Go  to  bed,  sir,"  was  the  answer,  "and  let  honest 
people  depart  without  hindrance.  You  will  be  paid 
out  of  our  first  profits." 

But  the  man  was  not  so  easily  appeased.  "Robbers ! 
Constable !"  he  screamed. 

Conceiving  it  was  better  to  be  gone  witKout  further 
parley,  having  assured  him  of  their  honorable  inten- 
tions, Barnes  was  about  to  lash  the  horses,  when  Kate 
suddenly  exclaimed : 

"Where's  Constance?" 


200  THE    STROLLERS 

"Isn't  she  inside  ?"  asked  the  manager  quickly. 

"No ;  she  isn't  here." 

"Oh,  I  sent  her  back  to  get  something  for  me  I  had 
forgotten,"  spoke  up  Mrs.  Adams,  "and  she  hasn't  re- 
turned yet." 

"Sent  her  back!  Madam,  you  have  ruined  every- 
thing !"  burst  out  Barnes,  bitterly. 

"Mr.  Barnes,  I  won't  be  spoken  to  like  a  child !" 

"Child,  indeed—" 

But  the  querulous  words  were  not  uttered,  for,  as 
the  manager  was  about  to  leave  the  box  in  considera- 
ble perturbation,  there — gazing  down  upon  them  at  a 
window  next  to  that  occupied  by  the  landlord — stood 
Constance ! 

For  a  tippet,  or  a  ruff,  or  some  equally  wretched 
frippery,  carelessly  left  by  the  old  lady,  all  their  plans 
for  deliverance  appeared  likely  to  miscarry.  Presum- 
ably, Constance,  turned  from  her  original  purpose  by 
the  noisy  altercation,  had  hurried  to  the  window,  where 
now  the  landlord  perceived  her  and  immediately 
availed  himself  of  the  advantage  offered. 

"So  one  of  you  is  left  behind,"  he  shouted  exult- 
antly. "And  it's  the  leading  lady,  too !  I'll  take  care 
she  stays  here,  until  after  a  settlement.  I'll  stop  you 
yet !  Stealing  away  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  you — 
you  vagabonds !" 

His  voice,  growing  louder  and  louder,  ended  in  a 
shrieking  crescendo.  Disheartened,  there  seemed  no 
alternative  for  the  players  save  to  turn  back  and  sur- 
render unconditionally.  Barnes  breathed  a  deep  sigh; 


AT   THE   TOWN    PUMP  201 

so  much  for  a  tippet! — their  dash  for  freedom  had 
been  but  a  sorry  attempt! — now  he  saw  visions  of 
prison  bars,  and  uttered  a  groan,  when  the  soldier 
who  was  riding  his  own  horse  dashed  forward  be- 
nefcth  the  window  and  stood  upright  in  his  stirrups. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  Miss  Carew,"  he  said. 

Fortunately  the  window  was  low  and  the  distance 
inconsiderable,  but  Barnes  held  his  breath,  hoping  the 
hazard  would  deter  her. 

"Do  not,  my  dear !"  he  began. 

But  she  did  not  hesitate;  the  sight  of  the  stalwart 
figure  and  the  strong  arms,  apparently  reassured  her, 
and  she  stepped  upon  the  sill. 

"Quick!"  he  exclaimed,  and,  at  the  word,  she 
dropped  into  his  upstretched  arms.  Scarcely  had  she 
escaped,  however,  before  the  landlord  was  seen  at  the 
same  window.  So  astonished  was  he  to  find  her  gone, 
surprise  at  first  held  him  speechless ;  then  he  burst 
into  a  volley  of  oaths  that  would  have  "shamed  a  whal- 
er's master. 

"Come  back!"  he  cried.  "Come  back,  or — "  The 
alternative  was  lost  in  vengeful  imprecation. 

Holding  Constance  before  him,  the  soldier  resumed 
his  saddle.  "Drive  on!"  he  cried  to  Barnes,  as  past 
the  chariot  sped  his  horse,  with  its  double  burden. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE  HAND  FERRY 

At  a  lively  gait  down  the  road  toward  the  river  gal- 
loped the  horse  bearing  Saint-Prosper  and  Constance. 
The  thoroughfare  was  deserted  and  the  dwelling 
houses  as  well  as  the  principal  buildings  of  the  town 
were  absolutely  dark.  At  one  place  a  dog  ran  out  to 
the  front  gate,  disturbed  by  the  unusual  noise  on  the 
road,  and  barked  furiously,  but  they  moved  rapidly 
on.  Now  the  steeple  of  the  old  church  loomed  weirdly 
against  the  dark  background  of  the  sky  and  then  van- 
ished. 

On;  on,  they  went,  past  the  churchyard,  with  its 
marble  slabs  indistinctly  outlined  in  the  darkness,  like 
a  phantom  graveyard,  as  immaterial  and  ghostlike  it- 
self as  the  spirits  of  the  earliest  settlers  at  rest  there 
beneath  the  sod.  This  was  the  last  indication  of  the 
presence  of  the  town,  the  final  impression  to  carry 
away  into  the  wide  country,  where  the  road  ran 
through  field  and  forest.  As  they  sped  along,  they 
plunged  into  a  chasm  of  blackness,  caused  by  the  trees 
on  both  sides  of  the  road  which  appeared  to  be  con- 
(202) 


THE   HAND    FERRY  203 

stantly  closing  upon  them.  In  the  darkness  of  that 
stygian  tunnel,  dashing  blindly  through  threatening 
obscurity,  she  yet  felt  no  terrors,  for  a  band  of  steel 
seemed  to  hold  her  above  some  pit  of  "visible  night." 

t)ut  of  the  tunnel  into  the  comparatively  open  space, 
the  wind  boomed  with  all  its  force,  and  like  an  enraged 
monster,  drove  the  storm-clouds,  now  rainless,  across 
the  sky.  Occasionally  the  moon  appeared  through 
some  aperture,  serene,  peace-inspiring,  momentarily 
gilding  the  dark  vapor,  and  again  was  swallowed  up 
by  another  mass  of  clouds.  A  brood  of  shadows 
leaped  around  them,  like  things  of  life,  now  dancing  in 
the  road  or  pursuing  through  the  tufts  of  grass,  then 
vanishing  over  the  meadows  or  disappearing  in 
murky  nooks.  But  a  moment  were  they  gone  and 
then,  marshaled  in  new  numbers,  menacing  before 
and  behind,  under  the  very  feet  of  the  horse, 
bidding  defiance  to  the  clattering  hoofs.  With  mane 
tossed  in  the  angry  wind,  and  nostrils  dilated,  the  ani- 
mal neighed  with  affright,  suddenly  leaping  aside,  as 
a  little  nest  of  unknown  dangers  lurked  and  rustled  in 
the  ambush  of  a  drift  of  animated  brush. 

At  that  abrupt  start,  the  rider  swayed;  his  grasp 
tightened  about  the  actress'  waist;  her  arms  involun- 
tarily held  him  closer.  Loosened  by  the  wind  and  the 
mad  motion,  her  hair  brushed  his  cheek  and  fell  over 
his  shoulder,  whipped  sharply  in  the  breeze.  A 
fiercer  gust,  sweeping  upon  them  uproariously,  sent 
all  the  tresses  free,  and  scudded  by  with  an  exultant 
shriek.  For  a  time  they  rode  in  this  wise,  her  face 


204  THE   STROLLERS 

cold  in  the  rush  of  wind;  his  gaze  fixed  ahead,  striv- 
ing to  pierce  the  gloom,  and  then  he  drew  rein,  hold- 
ing the  horse -with  some  difficulty  at  a  standstill  in  the 
center  of  the  thoroughfare. 

With  senses  numbed  by  the  stirring  flight,  the  young 
girl  had  been  oblivious  to  the  firmness  of  the  soldier's 
sustaining  grasp,  but  now  as  they  paused  in  the  silent, 
deserted  spot,  she  became  suddenly  conscious  of  it. 
The  pain — so  fast  he  held  her ! — made  her  wince.  She 
turned  her  face  to  his.  A  glint  of  light  fell  on  his 
brow  and  any  lines  that  had  appeared  there  were 
erased  in  the  magical  glimmer ;  eagerness,  youth,  pas- 
sion alone  shone  upon  his  features. 

His  arm  clasped  her  even  yet  more  closely,  as  if  in 
the  wildness  of  the  moment  he  would  fiercely  draw  her 
to  him  regardless  of  all.  Did  she  understand — that 
with  her  face  so  near  his,  her  hair  surrounding  him,  her 
figure  pressed  in  that  close  embrace — he  must  needs 
speak  to  her ;  had,  indeed,  spoken  to  her.  She  was 
conscious  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  trembled.  Her 
cheek  was  no  longer  cold;  abruptly  the  warm  glow 
mantled  it.  Was  it  but  that  a  momentary  calm  fell 
around  them;  the  temporary  hush  of  the  boisterous 
wind  ?  And  yet,  when  again  the  squall  swept  by  with 
renewed  turmoil,  her  face  remained  unchilled.  She 
seemed  but  a  child  in  his  arms.  How  light  her  own 
hand-touch  compared  to  that  compelling  grasp  with 
which  he  held  her!  She  remembered  he  had  but 
spoken  to  her  standing  in  the  window,  and  she  had 
obeyed  without  a  question — without  thought  of  fear. 


THE   HAND    FERRY  205 

She  longed  to  spring  to  the  ground  now,  to  draw  her- 
self from  him. 

"You  can  hear  the  chariot  down  the  road,  Miss 
Carew." 

Quickly  her  glance  returned  to  his  face;  his  gaze 
was  bent  down  the  thoroughfare.  He  spoke  so  quietly 
she  wondered  at  her  momentary  fears ;  his  voice  re- 
assured her. 

A  gleam  of  light  shot  through  a  rift  in  the  clouds. 

"Hello-a!"  came  a  welcome  voice  from  the  dis- 
tance. 

"Hello-a !"  answered  the  soldier. 

"You'd  better  ride  on!"  shouted  the  manager. 
"They're  after  us !" 

For  answer  the  soldier  touched  his  horse,  and  now 
began  a  race  for  the  river  and  the  ferry,  which  were  in 
plain  sight,  Luna  fortunately  at  this  critical  moment 
sailing  from  between  the  vapors  and  shining  from  a 
clear  lake  in  the  sky.  The  chaste  light,  out  of  the  angry 
convulsions  of  the  heavens^  showed  the  fugitives  the 
road  and  the  river,  winding  like  a  broad  band  of  silver 
across  the  darkness  of  the  earth,  its  surface  rippled 
into  waves  by  the  northern  wind.  Behind  them  the 
soldier  and  Constance  could  hear  the  coach  creaking 
and  groaning.  It  seemed  to  careen  on  its  beams'  end, 
but  some  special  providence  was  watching  over  the 
players  and  no  catastrophe  occurred. 

Nearer  came  the  men  on  horseback  down  the  hill; 
now  the  foremost  shouted.  Closer  was  the  river; 
Saint-Prosper  reached  its  bank ;  the  gang-plank  was  in 


206  THE    STROLLERS 

position  and  he  dashed  aboard.  With  a  mighty  toss- 
ing and  rolling,  the  chariot  approached,  rattled  safely 
across  the  gangway,  followed  by  the  property  wagon, 
and  eager  hands  grasped  the  rope,  extending  from 
shore  to  shore  above  the  large,  flat  craft.  These  hand 
ferries,  found  in  various  sections  of  the  country,  were 
strongly,  although  crudely,  constructed,  their  sole 
means  of  locomotion  in  the  stationary  rope,  by  means 
of  which  the  passengers,  providing  their  own  power 
for  transportation,  drew  themselves  to  the  opposite 
shore. 

The  energy  now  applied  to  the  hempen  strand  sent 
the  ferry  many  feet  from  the  shore  out  into  the  river, 
where  the  current  was  much  swifter  than  usual,  owing 
to  the  heavy  rainfalls.  The  horses  on  the  great  cum- 
bersome craft  were  snorting  with  terror. 

Crack!  pish!  One  of  the  men  on  the  shore  used 
his  revolver. 

"An  illogical  and  foolish  way  to  collect  debts,  that !" 
grumbled  the  manager,  tugging  at  the  rope.  "If  they 
kill  us,  how  can  we  requite  them  for  our  obligations  ?" 

The  river  was  unusually  high  and  the  current  set 
the  boat,  heavily  loaded,  tugging  at  the  rope.  How- 
ever, it  resisted  the  strain  and  soon  the  craft  grated 
on  the  sand  and  the  party  disembarked,  safe  from  con- 
stable and  bailiff  in  the  brave,  blue  grass  country. 
Only  one  mishap  occurred,  and  that  to  Adonis,  who,  in 
his  haste,  fell  into  the  shallow  water.  He  was  as  dis- 
consolate as  the  young  hero  Minerva  threw  into  the 


THE    HAND    FERRY  207 

sea  to  wrest  him  from  the  love  of  Eucharis.  But  in 
this  case,  Eucharis  (Kate)  laughed  immoderately  at 
his  discomfiture. 

^As  Barnes  was  not  sure  of  the  road,  the  strollers 
camped  upon  the  bank.  The  river  murmured  a  seduc- 
tive cradle-song  to  the  rushes,  and,  on  the  shore, 
from  the  dark  and  ominous  background,  came  the 
deeper  voice  of  the  pines. 

Constance,  who  had  been  unusually  quiet  and 
thoughtful,  gradually  recovered  her  spirits. 

"Here,  Mrs.  Adams,  is  your  tippet,"  she  said  with 
a  merry  smile,  taking  a  bit  of  lace  from  her  dress. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear;  I  wouldn't  have  lost  it  for 
anything!"  said  the  old  lady,  effusively,  while  Barnes 
muttered  something  beneath  his  breath. 

The  soldier,  who  had  dismissed  the  manager's 
thanks  somewhat  abruptly,  occupied  himself  arranging' 
the  cushions  from  the  chariot  on  the  grass.  Suddenly 
Mrs.  Adams  noticed  a  crimson  stain  on  his  shoulder. 

"Sir !"  she  exclaimed,  in  the  voice  of  the  heroine 
of  "Oriana,"  "you  are  wounded!" 

"It  is  nothing,  Madam !"  he  replied. 

Stripping  off  his  coat,  Barnes  found  the  wound  was, 
indeed,  but  slight,  the  flesh  having  just  been  pierced. 

"How  romantic !"  gushed  Susan.  "He  stood  in  front 
of  Constance  when  the  firing  began.  Now,  no  one 
thought  of  poor  me.  On  the  contrary,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, Mr.  Hawkes  discreetly  stood  behind  me." 


208  THE   STROLLERS 

"Jokes  reflecting  upon  one's  honor  are  in  bad  taste," 
gravely  retorted  the  melancholy  actor. 

"Indeed,  I  thought  it  no  jest  at  the  time !"  replied  the 
other. 

"Mistress  Susan,  your  tongue  is  dangerous !" 

"Mr.  Hawkes,  your  courage  will  never  lead  you 
into  danger !" 

"Nay,"  he  began,  angrily,  "this  is  a  serious  of- 
fense— " 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  said,  laughing,  "it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  defense." 

"There  is  no  arguing  with  a  woman,"  he  grumbled. 
"She  always  takes  refuge  in  her  tongue." 

"While  you,  Mr.  Hawkes,  take  refuge — " 

But  the  other  arose  indignantly  and  strode  into  the 
gloom.  Meanwhile  Barnes,  while  dressing  the  injury, 
discovered1  near  the  cut  an  old  scar  thoroughly  healed, 
but  so  large  and  jagged  it  attracted  his  attention. 

"That  hurt  was  another  matter,"  said  he,  touching 
it. 

Was  it  the  manager's  fingers  or  his  words  caused 
Saint-Prosper  to  wince?  "Yes,  it  was  another  mat- 
ter," he  replied,  hurriedly.  "An  Arab  spear — or  some- 
thing of  the  kind !" 

"Tell  us  about  it,"  prattled  Susan.  "You  have  never 
told  us  anything  about  Africa.  It  seems  a  forbidden 
subject/' 

"Perhaps  he  has  a  wife  in  Tangiers,  or  Cairo," 
laughed  Kate. 


THE   HAND    FERRY  209 

"He  was  wed  in  Amsterdam, 
Again  in  far  Siam, 
And  after  this 
Sought  triple  bliss 
And  married  in  Hindustan," 

sang  Susan. 

The  soldier  made  some  evasive  response  to  this 
raillery  and  then  became  silent.  Soon  quiet  prevailed 
in  the  encampment;  only  out  of  the  recesses  of  the 
forest  came  the  menacing  howl  of  a  vagabond  wolf. 

"Such,"  says  Barnes  in  his  note-book,  "is  the  true 
history  of  an  adventure  which  created  some  talk  at 
the  time.  A  perilous,  regrettable  business  at  best, 
but  we  acted  according  to  our  light  and  were  enabled 
thereafter  to  requite  our  obligations,  which  could  not 
have  been  done  had  they  seized  the  properties,  poor 
garments  of  players'  pomp ;  tools  whereby  we  earned 
our  meager  livelihood.  If,  after  this  explanation,  any- 
one still  has  aught  of  criticism,  I  must  needs  be  silent, 
not  controverting  his  censure. 

"With  some  amusement  I  learned  that  our  notable 
belligerent,  Mr.  Gough,  was  well-nigh  reduced  to  the 
same  predicament  as  that  in  which  we  found  ourselves. 
He  could  not  complain  of  his  audiences,  and  the  Band 
of  Hope  gained  many  recruits  by  his  coming,  but, 
through  some  misapprehension,  the  customary  collec- 
tions were  overlooked.  The  last  night  of  the  lecture, 
the  chairman  of  the  evening,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
address,  arose  and  said :  'I  move  we  thank  Mr.  Gough 
for  his  eloquent  effort  and  then  adjourn.' 


210  THE   STROLLERS 

"The  motion  prevailed,  and  the  gathering  was  about 
to  disperse  when  the  platform  bludgeon-man  held 
them  with  a  gesture.  'Will  you  kindly  put  your  thanks 
in  writing,  that  I  may  offer  it  for  my  hotel  bill/  said 
he. 

"But  for  this  quick  wit  and  the  gathering's  response 
to  the  appeal  he  would  have  been  in  the  same  boat  with 
us,  or  rather,  on  the  same  boat — the  old  hand  ferry! 
Subsequently,  he  became  a  speaker  of  foreign  and  na- 
tional repute,  but  at  that  time  he  might  have  traveled 
from  Scarboro'  to  Land's  End  without  attracting  a 
passing  glance." 


BOOK    II 
DESTINY  AND   THE    MARIONETTES 


CHAPTER    I 

THE    FASTIDIOUS    MARQUIS 

Through  the  land  of  the  strapping,  thick-ribbed  pio- 
neers of  Kentucky  the  strollers  bent  their  course — a 
country  where  towns  and  hamlets  were  rapidly  spring- 
ing up  in  the  smiling  valleys  or  on  the  fertile  hill- 
sides; where  new  families  dropping  in,  and  old  ones 
obeying  the  injunction  to  be  "fruitful  and  multiply" 
had  so  swelled  the  population  that  the  region,  but  a 
short  time  before  sparsely  settled,  now  teemed  with  a 
sturdy  people.  To  Barnes'  satisfaction,  many  of  the 
roads  were  all  that  could  have  been  wished  for,  the 
turnpike  system  of  the  center  of  the  state  reflecting  un- 
bounded credit  upon  its  builders. 

If  a  people  may  be  judged  by  its  highways,  Kentucky, 
thus  early,  with  its  macadamized  roads  deserved  a 
prominent  place  in  the  sisterhood  of  states.  More- 
over, while  mindful  always  of  her  own  internal  ad- 
vancement, she  persistently  maintained  an  ever-watch- 
ful eye  and  closest  scrutiny  on  the  parental  govern- 
'ment  and  the  acts  of  congress.  "Give  a  Kentuckian 
a  plug  of  tobacco  and  a  political  antagonist  and  he 
(213) 


214  THE   STROLLERS 

will  spend  a  comfortable  day  where'er  he  may  be," 
has  been  happily  said.  It  was  this  hardy ,  horse-raising, 
tobacco-growing  community  which  had  given  the  peer- 
less Clay  to  the  administrative  councils  of  the  country ; 
it  was  this  rugged  cattle-breeding,  whisky-distilling 
people  which  had  offered  the  fearless  Zach  Taylor  to 
spread  the  country's  renown  on  the  martial  field. 

What  sunny  memories  were  woven  in  that  pilgrim- 
age for  the  strollers !  Remembrance  of  the  corn-husk- 
ing festivities,  and  the  lads  who,  having  found  the  red 
ears,  kissed  the  lasses  of  their  choice;  of  the  danc- 
ing that  followed — double-shuffle,  Kentucky  heel-tap, 
pigeon  wing  or  Arkansas  hoe-down!  And  mingling 
with  the  remembrance  of  such  pleasing  diversions  were 
the  yet  more  satisfying  recollections  of  large  audiences, 
generous-minded  people  and  substantial  rewards,  well- 
won;  rewards  which  enabled  them  shortly  afterward 
to  pay  by  post  the  landlord  from  whom  they  had  fled. 

Down  the  Father  of  Waters  a  month  or  so  after 
their  flight  into  the  blue  grass  country  steamed  the 
packet  bearing  the  company  of  players,  leaving  behind 
them  the  Chariot  of  the  Muses. 

At  the  time  of  their  voyage  down  the  Mississippi 
"the  science  of  piloting  was  not  a  thing  of  the  dead 
and  pathetic  past,"  and  wonderful  accounts  were  writ- 
ten of  the  autocrats  of  the  wheel  and  the  characteris- 
tics of  the  ever-changing,  ever-capricious  river.  "Ac- 
cidents !"  says  an  early  steamboat  captain.  "Oh,  some- 
times we  run  foul  of  a  snag  or  sawyer,  occasionally 


FASTIDIOUS    MARQUIS        215 

collapse  a  boiler  and  blow  up  sky-high.  We  get  used 
to  these  little  matters  and  don't  mind  them." 

None  of  these  trifling  incidents  was  experienced 
by  the  players,  however,  who  thereby  lost,  according 
to  the  Munchausens  of  the  period,  half  of  the  pleas- 
ure and  excitement  of  the  trip.  In  fact,  nothing  more 
stirring  than  taking  on  wood  from  a  flatboat  along- 
side, or  throwing  a  plank  ashore  for  a  passenger, 
varied  the  monotony  of  the  hour,  and,  approaching 
their  destination,  the  last  day  on  the  "floating  palace" 
dawned  serenely,  uneventfully. 

The  gray  of  early  morn  became  suffused  with  red, 
like  the  flush  of  life  on  a  pallid  cheek.  Arrows  of  light 
shot  out  above  the  trees ;  an  expectant  hush  pervaded 
the  forest.  Inside  the  cabin  a  sleepy  negro  began  the 
formidable  task  of  sweeping.  This  duty  completed,  he 
shook  a  bell,  which  feature  of  his  daily  occupation  the 
darky  entered  into  with  diabolical  energy,  and  soon 
the  ear-rending  discord  brought  the  passengers  on 
deck.  But  hot  cornbread,  steaks  and  steaming  coffee 
speedily  restored  that  equanimity  of  temper  disturbed 
by  the  morning's  clangorous  summons. 

Breakfast  over,  some  of  the  gentlemen  repaired  to 
the  boiler  deck  for  the  enjoyment  of  cigars,  the  ladies 
surrounded  the  piano  in  the  cabin,  while  a  gambler 
busied  himself  in  getting  into  the  good  graces  of  a 
young  fellow  who  was  seeing  the  world.  Less  lonely 
became  the  shores,-  as  the  boat,  panting  as  if  from  long 
exertion,  steamed  on.  Carrolton  and  Lafayette  were 


216  THE    STROLLERS 

left  behind.  Now  along  the  banks  stretched  the  showy 
houses  and  slave  plantations  of  the  sugar  planters; 
and  soon,  from  the  deck  of  the  boat,  the  dome  of  the 
St.  Charles  and  the  cathedral  towers  loomed  against  the 
sky. 

Beyond  a  mile  or  so  of  muddy  water  and  a  formid- 
able fleet  of  old  hulks-,  disreputable  barges  and  "small 
fry  broad-horns,"  lay  Algiers,  graceless  itself  as  the  un- 
inviting foreground ;  looking  out  contemplatively  from 
its  squalor  at  the  inspiring  view  of  Nouvelle  Orleans, 
with  the  freighters,  granaries  and  steamboats,  three 
stories  high,  floating  past;  comparing  its  own  inertia 
— if  a  city  can  be  presumed  capable  of  such  edifying 
consciousness! — with  the  aspect  of  the  busy  levee, 
where  cotton  bales,  sugar  hogsheads,  molasses  casks, 
tobacco,  hemp  and  other  staple  articles  of  the  South, 
formed,  as  it  were,  a  bulwark,  or  fortification  of  peace, 
for  the  habitations  behind  it.  Such  was  the  external 
appearance — suggestive  of  commerce — of  that  little 
center  whose  social  and  bohemian  life  was  yet  more 
interesting  than  its  mercantile  features. 

At  that  period  the  city  boasted  of  its  Addison  of 
letters — since  forgotten;  its  Feu-de-joie,  the  peerless 
dancer,  whose  beauty  had  fired  the  Duke  Gambade  to 
that  extravagant  conduct  which  made  the  recipient  of 
those  marked  attentions  the  talk  of  the  town ;  its  Ros- 
cius  of  the  drama;  its  irresistible  ingenue,  the  lovely, 
little  Fantoccini;  and  its  theatrical  carpet-knight, 
M.  Grimacier,  whose  intrigue  with  the  stately  and, 
heretofore,  saintly  Madame  Etalage  had,  it  was  said 


FASTIDIOUS    MARQUIS        217 

later,  much  to  do  with  the  unhappy  taking-off  of  that 
ostentatious  and  haughty  lady.  It  had  Mile.  Affettu- 
oso,  songstress,  with,  it  is  true,  an  occasional  break  in 
her  trill ;  and,  last,  but  not  least,  that  general  friend  of 
mankind,  more  puissant,  powerful  and  necessary  than 
all  the  nightingales,  butterflies,  or  men  of  letters — who, 
nevertheless,  are  well  enough  in  their  places ! — Tortier, 
the  only  Tortier,  who  carried  the  art  de  cuisine  to 
ravishing  perfection,  whose  ragouts  were  sonnets  in 
sauce  and  whose  fricassees  nothing  less  than  idyls  1 

Following  the  strollers'  experiences  with  short  en- 
gagements and  improvised  theaters,  there  was  solace 
in  the  appearance  of  the  city  of  cream  and  honey,  and 
the  players,  assembled  on  the  boiler  deck,  regarded  the 
thriving  port  with  mingled  feelings  as  they  drew 
nearer.  Susan  began  forthwith  to  dream  of  conquests 
— a  swarthy  Mexican,  the  owner  of  an  opal  mine;  a 
prince  from  Brazil ;  a  hidalgo,  exile,  or  any  other  nota- 
ble among  the  cosmopolitan  people.  Adonis  bethought 
himself  of  dusky  beauties,  waiting  in  their  carriages  at 
the  stage  entrance;  sighing  for  him,  languishing  for 
him ;  whirling  him  away  to  a  supper  room — and  Para- 
dise! Regretfully  the  wiry  old  lady  reverted  to  the 
time  when  she  and  her  first  husband  had  visited  this 
Paris  of  the  South,  and,  with  a  deep  sigh,  paid  brief 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  conjugal  felicity. 

Constance's  eyes  were  grave  as  they  rested  upon  the 
city  where  she  would  either  triumph  or  fail,  and  the 
seriousness  of  her  task  came  over  her,  leaning  with 
clasped  hands  against  the  railing  of  the  boat.  Among 


218  THE   STROLLERS 

that  busy  host  what  place  would  be  made  for  her? 
How  easy  it  seemed  to  be  lost  in  the  legion  of  workers ; 
to  be  crushed  in  the  swaying  crowd !  It  was  as  though 
she  were  entering  a  room  filled  with  strangers,  and 
stood  hesitating  on  the  threshold.  But  youth's  as- 
surance soon  set  aside  this  gloomy  picture;  the 
shadow  of  a  smile  lighted  her  face  and  her  glance 
grew  bright.  At  twenty  the  world  is  rosy  and  in  the 
perspective  are  many  castles. 

Near  by  the  soldier  also  leaned  against  the  rail,  look- 
ing not,  however,  at  New  Orleans  but  at  her,  while 
all  unconscious  of  his  regard  she  continued  to  gaze 
cityward.  His  face,  too,  was  thoughtful.  The  hap- 
hazard journey  was  approaching  its  end,  and  with 
it,  in  all  likelihood,  the  bond  of  union,  the  alliance  of 
close  comradeship  associated  with  the  wilderness.  She 
was  keenly  alive  to  honor,  fame,  renown.  What  mean- 
ing had  those  words  to  him — save  for  her  ?  He  smiled 
bitterly,  as  a  sudden  revulsion  of  dark  thoughts 
crowded  upon  him.  He  had  had  his  bout;  the  sands 
of  the  arena  that  once  had  shone  golden  now  were 
dust. 

Drawing  up  to  the  levee,  they  became  a  part  of  the 
general  bustle  and  confusion;  hurriedly  disembarked, 
rushed  about  for  their  luggage,  because  every  one  else 
was  rushing;  hastily  entered  carriages  of  which  there 
was  a  limited  supply,  and  were  whisked  off  over  the 
rough  cobblestones  which  constituted  the  principal 
pavements,  of  the  city ;  catching  momentary  glimpses, 
between  oscillations,  of  oyster  saloons,  fruit  and  old 


FASTIDIOUS    MARQUIS         219 

clothes'  shops,  and  coffee  stands,  where  the  people  ate 
in  the  open  air.  In  every  block  were  cafes  or  restau- 
rants, and  the  sign  "Furnished  Rooms"  appearing  at 
frequent  intervals  along  the  thoroughfare  through 
which  they  drove  at  headlong  pace,  bore  evidence  to 
the  fact  that  the  city  harbored  many  strangers. 

The  hotel  was  finally  reached — and  what  a  unique 
hostelry  it  was !  "Set  the  St.  Charles  down  in  St. 
Petersburg,"  commented  a  chronicler  in  1846,  "and  you 
would  think  it  a  palace;  in  Boston,  and  ten  to  one, 
you  would  christen  it  a  college ;  in  London,  and  it 
would  remind  you  of  an  exchange."  It  represented  at 
that  day  the  evolution  of  the  American  tavern,  the 
primitive  inn,  instituted  for  passengers  and  wayfaring 
men ;  the  development  of  the  pot-house  to  the  metro- 
politan hotel,  of  the  rural  ale-room  to  the  palatial 
saloon. 

"What  a  change  from  country  hostelries!"  solilo- 
quized the  manager,  after  the  company  were  installed 
in  commodious  rooms.  "No  more  inns  where  soap 
and  towels  are  common  property,  and  a  comb,  without 
its  full  complement  of  teeth,  does  service  for  all 
comers!"  he  continued,  gazing  around  the  apartment 
in  which  he  found  himself.  "Think  of  real  gas  in  your 
room,  Barnes,  and  great  chairs,  easy  as  the  arms  of 
Morpheus !  Are  you  comfortable,  my  dear  ?"  he  called 
out. 

Constance's  voice  in  an  adjoining  room  replied  af- 
firmatively, and  he  added :  "I'm  going  down  stairs  to 
look  around  a  bit." 


220  THE   STROLLERS 

Beneath  the  porch  and  reception  hall  extended  the 
large  bar-room,  where  several  score  of  men  were  en- 
joying their  liquors  and  lunches,  and  the  hum  of  con- 
versation, the  clinking  of  glasses  and  the  noise  made 
by  the  skilful  mixer  of  drinks  were  as  sweet  music 
to  the  manager,  when  shortly  after  he  strode  to 
the  bar.  Wearing  neither  coat  nor  vest,  the  barten- 
der's ruffled  shirt  displayed  a  glistening  stone;  the 
sleeves  were  ornamented  with  gold  buttons  and  the 
lace  collar  had  a  Byronic  roll. 

"What  will  you  have,  sir?"  he  said  in  a  well-modu- 
lated voice  to  a  big  Virginian,  who  had  preceded 
Barnes  into  the  room. 

"A  julep,"  was  the  reply,  "and,  while  you  are  mak- 
ing it,  a  little  whisky  straight." 

A  bottle  of  bourbon  was  set  before  him,  and  he 
wasted  no  valuable  time  while  the  bartender  manipu- 
lated the  more  complicated  drink.  Experiencing  the 
felicity  of  a  man  who  has  entered  a  higher  civilization, 
the  manager  ordered  a  bottle  of  iced  ale,  drank  it  with 
gusto,  and,  seating  himself,  was  soon  partaking  of  a 
palatable  dish.  By  this  time  the  Virginian,  joined  by 
a  friend,  had  ordered  another  julep  for  the  near  future 
and  a  little  "straight"  for  the  immediate  present. 

"Happy  days !"  said  the  former. 

"And  yours  happier  1"  replied  the  new-comer. 

"Why,  it's  Utopia,"  thought  Barnes.  "Every  one  is 
happy!" 

But  even  as  he  thus  ruminated,  his  glance  fell  upon 


FASTIDIOUS    MARQUIS        221 

an  old  man  at  the  next  table  whom  the  waiters  treated 
with  such  deference  the  manager  concluded  he  must  be 
some  one  of  no  slight  importance.  This  gentleman  was 
thin,  wrinkled  and  worn,  with  a  face  Voltairian  in 
type,  his  hair  scanty,  his  dress  elegant,  and  his  satirical 
smile  like  the  "flash  of  a  dagger  in  the  sunlight."  He 
was  inspecting  his  bouillon  with  manifest  distrust,  ad- 
justing his  eye-glass  and  thrusting  his  head  close  to 
the  plate.  The  look  of  suspicion  deepened  and  finally 
a  grimace  of  triumph  illumined  his  countenance,  as 
he  rapped  excitedly  on  the  table. 

"Waiter,  waiter,  do  you  see  that  soup?"  lie  almost 
shouted. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  was  the  humble  re- 
sponse. 

"Look  at  it  well!"  thundered  the  old  gentleman. 
"Do  you  find  nothing  extraordinary  about  it?" 

Again  the  bouillon  was  examined,  to  the  amusement 
of  the  manager. 

"I  am  sorry,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  ;  I  can  detect  noth- 
ing unusual,"  politely  responded  the  waiter,  when  he 
had  concluded  a  pains-taking  scrutiny  with  all  the 
gravity  and  seriousness  attending  so  momentous  an 
investigation. 

"You  are  blind!"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "See 
there;  a  spot  of  grease  floating  in  the  bouillon,  and 
there,  another  and  another !  In  fact,  here  is  an  'Archi- 
pelago of  Greece !'  "  This  witticism  was  relieved  by 
an  ironical  smile.  "Take  it  away !" 


222  THE   STROLLERS 

The  waiter  hurried  off  with  the  offending  dish  and 
the  old  man  looked  immensely  satisfied  over  the  dis- 
turbance he  had  created. 

"Well  has  it  been  said,"  thought  the  manager,  "that 
the  destiny  of  a  nation  depends  upon  the  digestion  of 
its  first  minister !  I  wonder  what  he'll  do  next  ?" 

Course  after  course  that  followed  was  rejected,  the 
guest  keeping  up  a  running  comment : 

"This  sauce  is  not  properly  prepared.  This  salad 
is  not  well  mixed.  I  shall  starve  in  this  place.  These 
truffles ;  spoiled  in  the  importation !" 

"Oh,  Monsieur  le  Marquis," — clasping  his  hands  in 
despair — "they  were  preserved  in  melted  paraffin." 

"What  do  I  care  about  your  paraffin  ?  Never  mind 
anything  more,  waiter.  I  could  not  eat  a  mouthful. 
What  is  the  bill  ?  Very  well ;  and  there  is  something 
for  yourself,  blockhead." 

"Thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Marquis."     Deferentially. 

"The  worst  meal  I've  ever  had!  And  I've  been  in 
Europe,  Asia  and  Africa.  Abominable — abominable — 
idiot  of  a  waiter — miserable  place,  miserable — and  this 
dyspepsia — " 

Thus  running  on,  with  snatches  of  caustic  criticism, 
the  old  gentleman  shambled  out,  the  waiter  holding  the 
door  open  for  him  and  bowing  obsequiously. 

"An  amiable  individual!"  observed  Barnes  to  the 
waiter.  "Is  he  stopping  at  the  hotel  ?" 

"No,  Monsieur.  He  has  an  elegant  house  near  by. 
The  last  time  he  was  here  he  complimented  the  cook 


FASTIDIOUS    MARQUIS        223 

and  praised  the  sauces.  He  is  a  little — what  you  call 
it  ? — whimsical !" 

"Yes;  slightly  inclined  that  way.  But  is  he  here 
alone?" 

"He  is,  Monsieur.  He  loses  great  sums  in  the 
gambling  rooms.  He  keeps  a  box  at  the  theater  for 
the  season.  He  is  a  prince — a  great  lord — " 

"Even  if  he  calls  you  'liar'  and  'blockhead'  ?" 

"Oh,  Monsieur," — displaying  a  silver  dollar  with  an 
expressive  shrug  of  the  shoulders — "this  is  the — what 
you  call  it? — balm." 

"And  very  good  balm,  too,"  said  Barnes,  heartily. 

Still  grumbling  to  himself,  the  marquis  reached  the 
main  corridor,  where  the  scene  was  almost  as  animated 
as  in  the  bar  and  where  the  principal  topic  of  conver- 
sation seemed  to  be  horses  and  races  that  had  been 
or  were  about  to  be  run.  "I'd  put  Uncle  Rastus'  mule 
against  that  hoss !"  "That  four-year-old's  quick  as  a 
runaway  nigger!"  "Five  hundred,  the  gelding  beats 
the  runaway  nigger !"  "Any  takers  on  Jolly  Rogers  ?" 
were  among  the  snatches  of  talk  which  lent  life  and 
zest  to  the  various  groups. 

Sitting  moodily  in  a  corner,  with  legs  crossed  and 
hat  upon  his  knee,  was  a  young  man  whose  careless 
glance  wandered  from  time  to  time  from  his  cigar  to 
the  passing  figures.  As  the  marquis  slowly  hobbled 
along,  with  an  effort  to  appear  alert,  the  young  man 
arose  quickly  and  came  forward  with  a  conventional 
smile,  intercepting  the  old  nobleman  near  the  door, 


224  THE   STROLLERS 

"My  dear  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  he  exclaimed, 
effusively,  "it  is  with  pleasure  I  see  you  recovered 
from  your  recent  indisposition." 

"Recovered!"  almost  shrieked  the  marquis.  "I'm 
far  from  recovered;  I'm  worse  than  ever.  I  detest 
congratulations,  Monsieur!  It's  what  a  lying  world 
always  does  when  you  are  on  the  verge  of  dissolu- 
tion." 

"You  are  as  discerning  as  ever,"  murmured  the  land 
baron — for  it  was  Edward  Mauville. 

"I'm  not  fit  to  be  around;  I  only  came  out" — with 
a  sardonic  chuckle — "because  the  doctors  said  it  would 
be  fatal." 

"Surely  you  do  not  desire — " 

"To  show  them  they  are  impostors?    Yes." 

"And  does  New  Orleans  continue  to  please  you?" 
asked  the  other,  with  some  of  that  pride  Southerners 
entertained  in  those  days  for  their  queen  city. 

"How  does  the  exile  like  the  forced  land  of  his 
adoption?"  returned  the  nobleman,  irritably.  "My 
king  is  in  exile.  Why  should  I  not  be  also?  Should 
I  stay  there,  herd  with  the  cattle,  call  every  ship  jack 
'Citizen'  and  every  clod  'Brother' ;  treat  every  scrub  as 
though  she  were  a  duchess  ?" 

"There  is,  indeed,  a  regrettable  tendency  to  deify 
common  clay  nowadays,"  assented  the  patroon,  sooth- 
ingly. 

"Why,  your  'Citizen'  regards  it  as  condescension  to 
notice  a  man  of  condition!"  said  the  marquis,  vio- 
lently. "When  my  king  was  driven  away  by  the  rab- 


FASTIDIOUS    MARQUIS        225 

ble  the  ocean  was  not  too  broad  to  separate  me  from 
a  swinish  civilization.  I  will  never  go  back;  I  will 
live  there  no  more !" 

,"That   is  good  news   for  us,"   returned  the   land 
baron. 

"Your  politeness  almost  reconciles  me  to  staying," 
said  the  old  man,  more  affably.  "But  I  am  on  my 
way  to  the  club.  What  do  you  say  to  a  rubber  ?" 

The  patroon  readily  assented.  In  front  of  the  hotel 
waited  the  marquis'  carriage,  on  the  door  of  which 
was  his  coat-of-arms — argent,  three  mounts  vert,  on 
each  a  sable  bird.  Entering  this  conveyance,  they 
were  soon  being  driven  over  the  stones  at  a  pace  which 
jarred  every  bone  in  the  marquis'  body  and  threatened 
to  shake  the  breath  of  life  from  his  trembling  and  at- 
tenuated figure.  He  jumped  about  like  a  parched 
pea,  and  when  finally  they  drew  up  with  a  jerk  and  a 
jolt,  the  marquis  was  fairly  gasping.  After  an  inter- 
val to  recover  himself,  he  took  his  companion's  arm, 
and,  with  his  assistance,  mounted  the  broad  steps  lead- 
ing to  the  handsome  and  commodious  club  house. 

"At  least,"  said  the  nobleman,  dryly,  as  he  paused 
on  the  stairs,  "our  pavements  are  so  well-kept  in 
Paris  that  a  drive  there  in  a  tumbril  to  the  scaffold 
is  preferable  to  a  coach  in  New  Orleans !" 


CHAPTER    II 

"ONLY   AN    INCIDENT" 

To  the  scattering  of  the  anti-renters  by  the'  rescue 
party  that  memorable  night  at  the  manor  the  land 
baron  undoubtedly  owed  his  safety.  Beyond  reach 
of  personal  violence  in  a  neighboring  town,  without 
his  own  domains,  from  which  he  was  practically  ex- 
iled, he  had  sought  redress  in  the  courts,  only  to  find 
his  hands  tied,  with  no  convincing  clue  to  the  perpe- 
trators of  these  outrages.  On  the  patroon  lay  the 
burden  of  proof,  and  he  found  it  more  difficult  than 
he  had  anticipated  to  establish  satisfactorily  any  kind  of 
a  case,  for  alibis  blocked  his  progress  at  every  turn. 

At  war  with  his  neighbors,  and  with  little  taste 
for  the  monotony  of  a  northern  winter,  he  bethought 
him  of  his  native  city,  determined  to  leave  the  locality 
and  at  a  distance  wait  for  the  turmoil  to  subside.  His 
brief  dream  of  the  rehabilitation  of  the  commonwealth 
brought  only  memories  stirring  him  to  restlessness. 
He  made  inquiries  about  the  strollers,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose. The  theatrical  band  had  come  and  gone  like 
gipsies. 

(226) 


"ONLY   AN    INCIDENT"         22; 

Saying  nothing  to  any  one,  except  Scroggs,  to  whom 
he  entrusted  a  load  of  litigation,  he  at  length  quietly 
departed  in  the  regular  stage,  until  he  reached 
appoint  where  two  strap  rails  proclaimed  the  new 
method  of  conveyance.  Wedged  in  the  small 
compartment  of  a  little  car  directly  behind  a  smoking 
monster,  with  an  enormous  chimney,  fed  with  cord- 
wood,  he  was  borne  over  the  land,  and  another  puffing 
marvel  of  different  construction  carried  him  over  the 
water.  Reaching  the  Crescent  City  some  time  before 
the  strollers — his  progress  expedited  by  a  locomotive 
that  ran  full  twenty  miles  an  hour! — the  land  baron 
found  among  the  latest  floating  population,  comprised 
of  all  sorts  and  conditions,  the  Marquis  de  Ligne. 
The  blood  of  the  patroons  flowed  sluggishly  through 
the  land  baron's  veins,  but  his  French  extraction 
danced  in  every  fiber  of  his  being.  After  learn- 
ing the  more  important  and  not  altogether  dis- 
creditable circumstances  about  the  land  baron's  an- 
cestors— for  if  every  gentleman  were  whipped  for 
godlessness,  how  many  striped  backs  would  there  be ! 
— the  marquis,  who  declined  intimacy  with  Tom,  Dick 
and  Harry,  and  their  honest  butchers,  bakers  and  can- 
dlestick-makers of  forefathers,  permitted  an  acquaint- 
ance that  accorded  with  his  views  governing  social 
intercourse. 

"This  is  a  genuine  pleasure,  Monsieur  le  Marquis," 
observed  the  land  baron  suavely,  when  the  two  found 
themselves  seated  in  a  card  room  with  brandy  and 
soda  before  them.  "To  meet  a  nobleman  of  the  old 


228  THE   STROLLERS 

school  is  indeed  welcome  in  these  days  when  New 
Orleans  harbors  the  refugees  of  the  world,  for,  strive 
as  we  will,  outsiders  are  creeping  in  and  corrupting 
our  best  circles." 

"Soon  we  shall  all  be  corrupt,"  croaked  the  old 
man.  "France — but  what  can  you  expect  of  a  nation 
that  exiles  kings!" 

"Ah,  Louis  Philippe!  My  father  once  entertained 
him  here  in  New  Orleans,"  said  Mauville. 

"Indeed?"  remarked  the  marquis  with  interest. 

"It  was  when  he  visited  the  city  in  1798  with  his 
brothers,  the  Duke  of  Montpensier  and  the  Count  of 
Beaujolais.  New  Orleans  then  did  not  belong  to 
America.  France  was  not  so  eager  to  sell  her  fair 
possessions  in  those  days.  I  remember  my  father 
often  speaking  of  the  royal  visit.  The  king  even 
borrowed  money,  which" — laughing — "he  forgot  to 
pay!" 

The  marquis'  face  was  a  study,  as  he  returned 
stiffly :  "Sir,  it  is  a  king's  privilege  to  borrow.'' 

"It  is  his  immortal  prerogative,"  answered  Mauville 
easily.  "I  only  mentioned  it  to  show  how  highly  he 
honored  my  father." 

The  nobleman  lifted  his  eyebrows,  steadily  regard- 
ing his  companion. 

"It  was  a  great  honor,"  he  said  softly.  "One  does 
not  lend  to  a  king.  When  Louis  Philippe  borrowed 
from  your  father  he  lent  luster  to  your  ancestry." 

"Yes;  I  doubt  not  my  father  regarded  himself  as 


"ONLY  AN   INCIDENT"         229 

the  debtor.  Again,  we  had  another  distinguished 
compatriot  of  yours  at  our  house — General  Lafayette." 

"Lafayette!"  repeated  the  marquis.  "Ah,  that's  an- 
other matter!  A  man,  born  to  rank  and  condition, 
voluntarily  sinking  to  the  level  of  the  commonalty! 
A  person  of  breeding  choosing  the  cause  of  the  rout 
and  rabble !  How  was  he  received  ?" 

"Like  a  king!"  laughed  Mauville.  "A  vast  con- 
course of  people  assembled  before  the  river  when  he 
embarked  on  the  'Natchez'  for  St.  Louis." 

Muttering  something  about  "bourgeoisie! — epi- 
cier!"  the  nobleman  partook  of  the  liquid  consolation 
before  him,  which  seemed  to  brighten  his  spirits. 

"If  my  doctors  could  see  me  now !  Dolts !  Quacks !" 

"It's  a  good  joke  on  them,"  said  Mauville,  ironic- 
ally. 

"Isn't  it?  They  forbid  me  touching  stimulants. 
Said  they  would  be  fatal !  Impostors !  Frauds !  They 
haven't  killed  me  yet,  have  they?" 

"If  so,  you  are  a  most  agreeable  and  amiable  ghost," 
returned  Mauville. 

"An  amiable  ghost!"  cackled  the  old  man.  "Ha! 
Ha !  you  must  have  your  joke !  But  don't  let  me  have 
such  a  ghastly  one  again.  I  don't  like" — in  a  lower 
tone — "jests  about  the  spirits  of  the  other  world." 

"What!     A  well-seasoned  materialist  like  you!" 

"An  idle  prejudice!"  answered  the  marquis.  "Only 
when  you  compared  me  to  a  ghost" — in  a  half  whis- 
per— "it  seemed  as  though  I  were  one,  a  ghost  of  my- 


230  THE    STROLLERS 

self  looking  back  through  years  of  pleasure — years  of 
pleasure !" 

"A  pleasant  perspective  such  memories  make,  I  am 
sure,"  observed  the  land  baron. 

"Memories,"  repeated  the  marquis,  wagging  his 
head.  "Existence  is  first  a  memory  and  then  a  blank. 
But  you  have  been  absent  from  New  Orleans,  Mon- 
sieur ?" 

"I  have  been  north  to  look  after  certain  properties 
left  me  by  a  distant  relative — peace  to  his  ashes !" 

"Only  on  business?"  leered  the  marquis.  "No  af- 
fair of  the  heart?  You  know  the  saying:  'Love 
makes  time  pass — '  " 

"  'And  time  makes  love  pass/  "  laughed  Mauville, 
somewhat  unnaturally,  his  cynicism  fraught  with  a 
twinge.  "Nothing  of  the  kind,  I  assure  you!  But 
you,  Marquis,  are  not  the  only  exile." 

The  nobleman  raised  his  brows  interrogatively. 

"You  fled  from  France;  I  fled  from  the  ancestral 
manor.  The  tenants  claimed  the  farms  were  theirs. 
I  attempted  to  turn  them  out  and — they  turned  me 
out!  I  might  as  well  have  inherited  a  hornet's  nest. 
It  was  a  legacy  of  hate !  The  old  patroon  must  have 
chuckled  in  his  grave!  One  night  they  called  with 
the  intention  of  hanging  me." 

"My  dear  sir,  I  congratulate  you!"  exclaimed  the 
nobleman  enthusiastically. 

"Thanks!"    Dryly. 

"It  is  the  test  of  gentility.  They  only  hang  or  cut 
off  the  heads  of  people  of  distinction  nowadays." 


"ONLY   AN   INCIDENT"         231 

"Gad!  then  I  came  near  joining  the  ranks  of  the 
well-born  angels.  But  for  an  accident  I  should  now 
be  a  cherub  of  quality." 

"And  how,  Monsieur,  did  you  escape  such  a  felici- 
tous fate?" 

The  land  baron's  face  clouded.  "Through  a  stran- 
ger— a  Frenchman — a  silent,  taciturn  fellow — more  or 
less  an  adventurer,  I  take  it.  He  called  himself  Saint- 
Prosper — " 

"Saint-Prosper !" 

The  marquis  gazed  at  Mauville  with  amazement 
and  incredulity.  He  might  even  have  flushed  or 
turned  pale,  but  such  a  possible  exhibition  of  emotion 
was  lost  beneath  an  artificial  bloom,  painted  by  his 
valet.  His  eyes,  however,  gleamed  like  candles  in  a 
death's  head. 

"This  Saint-Prosper  you  met  was  a  soldier?"  he 
asked,  and  his  voice  trembled.  "Ernest  Saint-Pros- 
per?" 

"Yes ;  he  was  a  soldier ;  served  in  Africa,  I  believe. 
You  knew  him?"  Turning  to  the  marquis  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Knew  him !  He  was  my  ward,  the  rascal !"  cried 
the  other  violently.  "He  was,  but  now — ingrate! — 
traitor! — better  if  he  were  dead!" 

"You  speak  bitterly,  Monsieur  le  Marquis?"  said 
the  patroon  curiously. 

"Bitterly ! — after  his  conduct ! — he  is  no  longer  any- 
thing to  me  !  He  is  dead  to  me — dead !" 

"How  did  he  deviate  from  the  line  of  duty?"  asked 


232  THE   STROLLERS 

Mauville,  with  increasing  interest,  and  an  eagerness 
his  light  manner  did  not  disguise.  "A  sin  of  omission 
or  commission?" 

"Eh?  What?"  mumbled  the  old  nobleman,  staring 
at  his  questioner,  and,  on  a  sudden,  becoming  taci- 
turn. "A  family  affair!"  he  added  finally,  with  dig- 
nity. "Not  worth  repeating!  But  what  was  he  do- 
ing there?" 

"He  had  joined  a  strolling  band  of  players/'  said 
the  other,  concealing  his  disappointment  as  best  he 
might  at  his  companion's  evasive  reply. 

"A  Saint-Prosper  become  an  actor!"  shouted  the 
marquis,  his  anger  again  breaking  forth.  "Has  he 
not  already  dragged  an  honored  name  in  the  dust? 
A  stroller!  A  player!"  The  marquis  fairly  gasped 
at  the  enormity  of  the  offense;  for  a  moment  he  was 
speechless,  and  then  asked  feebly:  "What  caused  him 
to  take  such  a  humiliating  step?" 

"He  is  playing  the  hero  of  a  romance,"  said  the 
land  baron,  moodily.  "I  confess  he  has  excellent 
taste,  though!  The  figure  of  a  Juno — eyes  like  stars 
on  an  August  night — features  proud  as  Diana — the 
voice  of  a  siren — in  a  word,  picture  to  yourself  your 
fairest  conquest,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  and  you  will 
have  a  worthy  counterpart  of  this  rose  of  the  wilder- 
ness !" 

"My  fairest  conquest!"  piped  the  listener.  With 
lack-luster  eyes  he  remained  motionless  like  a  traveler 
in  the  desert  who  gazes  upon  a  mirage.  "You  have 
described  her  well.  The  features  of  Diana!  It  was 


"ONLY   AN   INCIDENT"         233 

at  a  revival  of  Vanbrugh's  'Relapse'  I  first  met  her, 
dressed  after  the  fashion  of  the  Countess  of  Ossory. 
Who  would  not  worship  before  the  figures  of  Lely?" 

He  half  closed  his  eyes,  as  though  gazing  in  fancy 
upon  the  glossy  draperies  and  rosy  flesh  of  those  vol- 
uptuous court  beauties. 

"The  wooing,  begun  in  the  wings,  ended  in  an  ivy- 
covered  villa — a  retired  nook — solitary  walks  by  day 
— nightingales  and  moonshine  by  night.  It  was  a 
pleasing  romance  while  it  lasted,  but  joy  palls  on  one. 
Nature  abhors  sameness.  The  heart  is  like  Mother 
Earth — ever  varying.  I  wearied  of  this  surfeit  of 
Paradise  and — left  her!" 

"A  mere  incident  in  an  eventful  life,"  said  his  com- 
panion, thoughtfully. 

"Yes ;  only  an  incident !"  repeated  the  marquis. 
"Only  an  incident!  I  had  almost  forgotten  it,  but 
your  conversation  about  players  and  your  description 
of  the  actress  brought  it  to  mind.  It  had  quite  passed 
away ;  it  had  quite  passed  away !  But  the  cards,  Mon- 
sieur Mauvilie ;  the  cards !" 


CHAPTER    III 

AT    THE    RACES 

For  several  days,  after  rehearsals  were  over,  the 
strollers  were  free  to  amuse  themselves  as  they 
pleased.  Their  engagement  at  the  theater  did  not 
begin  for  about  a  week,  and  meanwhile  they  managed 
to  combine  recreation  with  labor  in  nearly  equal 
proportions.  Assiduously  they  devoted  themselves  to 
a  round  of  drives  and  rambles :  through  pastures  and 
wood-land  to  Carrolton ;  along  the  shell  road  to  Lake 
Pontchartrain ;  to  Biloxi,  the  first  settlement  of  the 
French ;  and  to  the  battle  grounds,  once  known  as  the 
plains  of  Chalmette,  where  volunteer  soldiers  were 
now  encamped,  awaiting  orders  to  go  to  the  front  in 
the  Mexican  campaign.  For  those  who  craved  greater 
excitement,  the  three  race-courses — the  Louisiana,  the 
Metairie  and  the  Carrolton  offered  stimulating  di- 
version. 

Within  sight  of  the  Metairie  were  the  old  dueling 
grounds,  under  the  oaks,  where,  it  is  related,  on  one 
Sunday  in  '39  ten  duels  occurred ;  where  the  contest- 
ants frequently  fought  on  horseback  with  sabers ;  and, 

(234) 


ATTHERACES  235 

where  the  cowherds,  says  a  chronicler,  became  so  ac- 
customed to  seeing  honor  satisfied  in  this  manner 
that  they  paid  little  attention  to  these  meetings,  pur- 
stu/ig  their  own  humble  duties,  indifferent  to  the  fol- 
lies of  fashionable  society.  The  fencing  schools  flour- 
ished— what  memories  cluster  around  that  odd, 
strange  master  of  the  blade,  Spedella,  a  melancholy 
enigma  of  a  man,  whose  art  embodied  much  of  the 
finest  shading  and  phrasing  peculiar  to  himself ;  from 
whom  even  many  of  Bonaparte's  discarded  veterans 
were  not  above  acquiring  new  technique  and  tempera- 
ment! Men  in  those  days  were  most  punctilious 
about  reputation,  but  permitted  a  sufficiently  wide 
latitude  in  its  interpretation  not  to  hamper  themselves 
or  seriously  interfere  with  their  desires  or  pleasures. 
Thus,  virtue  did  not  become  a  burden,  nor  honor  a 
millstone.  Both,  like  epaulets  or  tassels,  were  worn 
lightly  and  befittingly. 

Shortly  after  the  players'  arrival  began  the  cele- 
brated Leduc  matches,  attracting  noted  men  and 
women  from  all  over  the  South.  The  hotels  were 
crowded,  the  lodging-houses  filled,  while  many  of  the 
large  homes  hospitably  opened  their  doors  to  visiting 
friends.  The  afternoons  found  the  city  almost  de- 
serted; the  bartenders  discontentedly  smoked  in  soli- 
tude; the  legion  of  waiters  in  the  hotels  and  resorts 
became  reduced  to  a  thinly  scattered  array;  while 
even  the  street  venders  had  "folded  their  tents"  and 
silently  stolen  to  the  races.  On  one  such  memorable 


236  THE   STROLLERS 

occasion  most  of  the  members  of  Barnes'  company  re- 
paired to  the  Metairie. 

Below  the  grand  stand,  brilliant  with  color,  strut- 
ted the  dandies  attending  to  their  bets;  above  they 
played  a  winning  or  losing  game  with  the  fair  sex. 
Intrigue  and  love-making  were  the  order  of  the  hour, 
and  these  daughters  of  the  South  beguiled  time — 
and  mortals ! — in  a  heyday  of  pleasure.  In  that  mixed 
gathering  burly  cotton  planters  from  the  country 
rubbed  elbows  with  aristocratic  Creoles,  whose  attire 
was  distinguishable  by  enormous  ruffles  and  light 
boots  of  cloth.  The  professional  follower  of  these 
events,  the  importunate  tout,  also  mingled  with  the 
crowd,  plainly  in  evidence  by  the  pronounced  charac- 
ter of 'his  dress,  the  size  of  his  diamond  studs  or  cra- 
vat pin,  and  the  massive  dimensions  of  his  finger 
rings.  No  paltry,  scrubby  track  cadger  was  this  re- 
splendent gentleman,  but  a  picturesque  rogue,  with 
impudence  as  pronounced  as  his  jewels! 

Surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  admirers,  Susan,  sprightly 
and  sparkling,  was  an  example  of  that  "frippery  one 
of  her  sex  is  made  up  with,  a  pasticcio  of  gauzes,  pins 
and '  ribbons  that  go  to  compound  that  multifarious 
thing,  a  well-dressed  woman."  Ever  ready  with  a 
quick  retort,  she  bestowed  her  favors  generously,  to 
the  evident  discomfiture  of  a  young  officer  in  her  reti- 
nue whom  she  had  met  several  days  before,  and  who, 
ever  since,  had  coveted  a  full  harvest  of  smiles,  liking 
not  a  little  the  first  sample  he  had  gathered.  How- 
ever, it  was  not  Susan's  way  to  entrust  herself  fully 


AT   THE   RACES  237 

to  any  one;  it  was  all  very  interesting  to  play  one 
against  another ;  to  intercept  angry  gleams ;  to  hold  in 
check  clashing  suitors — this  was  exciting  and  di- 
verting— but  she  exercised  care  not  to  transgress 
those  bounds  where  she  ceased  to  be  mistress  of  the 
situation.  Perhaps  her  limits  in  coquetry  were  fur- 
ther set  than  most  women  would  have  ventured  to 
place  them,  but  without  this  temerity  and  daring, 
the  pastime  would  have  lost  its  charm  for  her.  She 
might  play  with  edged  tools,  but  she  also  knew  how 
to  use  them. 

Near  her  was  seated  Kate,  indolent  as  of  yore,  now 
watching  her  sister  with  an  indulgent,  enigmatic  ex- 
pression, anon  permitting  a  scornful  glance  to  stray 
toward  Adonis,  who,  for  his  part,  had  eyes  only  for 
his  companion,  a  distinct  change  from  country  hoi- 
dens,  tavern  demoiselles  and  dainty  wenches,  with  their 
rough  hands  and  rosy  cheeks.  This  lady's  hands 
were  like  milk;  her  cheeks,  ivory,  and  Adonis 
in  bestowing  his  attentions  upon  her,  had  a  two-fold 
purpose :  to  return  tit  for  tat  for  Kate's  flaunting 
ways,  and  to  gratify  his  own  ever-fleeting  fancy. 

In  a  box,  half  the  length  of  the  grand  stand  re- 
moved, some  distance  back  and  to  the  left  of  Susan's 
gay  party,  Constance,  Mrs.  Adams  and  the  soldier 
were  also  observers  of  this  scene  of  animation. 

Since  the  manager's  successful  flight  from  the  land- 
lord and  the  constables,  the  relations  of  the  young 
girl  and  Saint-Prosper  had  undergone  little  change. 
At  first,  it  is  true,  with  the  memory  of  the  wild  ride 


238  THE    STROLLERS 

to  the  river  fresh  in  her  mind,  and  the  more  or  less 
disturbing  recollections  of  that  strange,  dark  night, 
a  certain  reticence  had  marked  her  manner  toward 
the  soldier ;  but,  as  time  went  by,  this  touch  of  reserve 
wore  off,  and  was  succeeded  by  her  usual  frankness 
or  gaiety.  In  her  eyes  appeared,  at  times,  a  new 
thoughtfulness,  but  for  no  longer  period  than  the 
quick  passing  of  a  summer  cloud  over  a  sunny 
meadow.  This  half-light  of  brief  conjecture  or  vague 
retrospection  only  mellowed  the  depths  of  her  gaze, 
and  Barnes  alone  noted  and  wondered. 

But  to-day  no  partial  shadows  lay  under  the  black, 
shading  lashes ;  the  exhilarating  scene,  the  rapidly 
succeeding  events,  the  turbulence  and  flutter  around 
her,  were  calculated  to  dispel  the  most  pronounced 
abstraction.  Beneath  a  protecting  parasol — for  the 
sunlight  shot  below  the  roof  at  the  back  and  touched 
that  part  of  the  grand  stand — a  faint  glow  warmed 
her  cheeks,  while  her  eyes  shone  with  the  gladness  of 
the  moment.  Many  of  the  dandies,  regarding  her 
with  marked  persistency,  asked  who  she  was,  and 
none  knew,  until  finally  Editor-Rhymster  Straws  was 
appealed  to.  Straws,  informed  on  all  matters,  was 
able  to  satisfy  his  questioners. 

"She  is  an  actress,"  said  Straws.  "So  we  are  told. 
We  shall  find  out  next  week.  She  is  a  beauty.  We 
can  tell  that  now." 

"You're  right,  Straws !"  exclaimed  a  pitch-and-toss 
youngster.  "If  she  shows  as  well  at  the  wire — " 


AT   THE   RACES 


239 


"You'd  take  a  long  chance  on  her  winning?" 
laughed  the  philosopher. 

"I'll  play  you  odds  on  it !"  cried  the  juvenile.  "Four 
to  one,  damme !  I'll  risk  that  on  her  eyes." 

"Four  to  one  on  a  lady's  eyes,  child!  Say  forty  to 
one,  and  take  the  hazard  of  the  die." 

Standing  near  the  rhymster,  story-writer  and  jour- 
nalist, was  a  tall  young  man,  dressed  in  creole  fash- 
ion. He  followed  the  glances  of  Straws'  questioners 
and  a  pallor  overspread  his  dark  complexion  as  he 
looked  at  the  object  of  their  attention. 

"The  stroller!"  he  exclaimed  half  audibly.  "Her 
counterpart  doesn't  exist." 

He  stepped  back  where  he  could  see  her  more 
plainly.  In  that  sea  of  faces,  her  features  alone  shone 
before  him,  clearly,  insistently. 

"Do  you  know  her,  Mr.  Mauville  ?"  asked  the  rhym- 
ster, observing  that  steadfast  glance. 

"Know  her?"  repeated  the  land  baron,  starting. 
"Oh,  Pve  seen  her  act." 

"Tip  me  off  her  points  and  I'll  tip  my  readers." 

"She  is  going  to  play  here  then?"  said  the  patroon. 

"Yes.  What  is  she  like?  Does  tragedy  or  com- 
edy favor  her  most?  You  see,"  he  added  apologetic- 
ally, "when  people  begin  to  talk  about  anybody,  we 
Grubstreet  hacks  thrive  on  the  gossip.  It  is  deplor- 
able"— with  regret — "but  small  talk  and  tattle  bring 
more  than  a  choice  lyric  or  sonnet.  And,  heaven 
help  us !" — shaking  his  head — "what  a  vendible  article 


240  THE    STROLLERS 

a  fine  scandal  is !  It  sells  fast,  like  goods  at  a  Dutch 
auction.  Penny  a  line?  More  nearly  six  pence! 
If  I  could  only  bring  myself  to  deal  in  such  merchan- 
dise !  If  I  were  only  a  good  rag  picker,  instead  of  a 
bad  poet!"  And  Straws  walked  away,  forgetting 
the  questions  he  had  asked  in  his  own  more  interest- 
ing cogitations. 

Without  definite  purpose,  the  patroon,  who  had 
listened  with  scant  attention  to  the  poet,  began  to 
move  slowly  toward  the  actress,  and  at  that  moment, 
the  eyes  of  the  soldier,  turning  to  the  saddling  pad- 
dock, where  the  horses  were  being  led  out,  fell  upon 
the  figure  drawing  near,  recognizing  in  him  the  heir 
to  the  manor,  Edward  Mauville.  Construing  in  his 
approach  a  deliberate  intention,  a  flush  of  quick  anger 
overspread  Saint-Prosper's  face  and  he  glanced  at 
the  girl  by  his  side.  But  her  manner  assured  him 
she  had  not  observed  the  land  baron,  for  at  that  mo- 
ment she  was  looking  in  the  opposite  direction,  en- 
deavoring to  discover  Barnes  or  the  others  of  the  com- 
pany in  the  immense  throng. 

Murmuring  some  excuse  to  his  unconscious  com- 
panion and  cutting  short  the  wiry  old  lady's  reminis- 
cences of  the  first  public  trotting  race  in  1818,  the 
soldier  left  the  box,  and,  moving  with  some  difficulty 
through  the  crowd,  met  Mauville  in  the  aisle  near  the 
stairway.  The  latter's  face  expressed  surprise,  not 
altogether  of  an  agreeable  nature,  at  the  encounter, 
but  he  immediately  regained  his  composure. 


AT   THE   RACES  241 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Saint-Prosper,"  he  observed  easily, 
"I  little  thought  to  see  you  here." 

"Nor  I  you !"  said  the  other  bluntly. 
yThe  patroon  gazed  in  seeming  carelessness  from  the 
soldier  to  the  young  girl.  Saint-Prosper's  presence 
in  New  Orleans  could  be  accounted  for;  he  had  fol- 
lowed her  from  the  Shadengo  Valley  across  the  conti- 
nent; the  drive  begun  at  the  country  inn — he  looking 
down  from  the  dormer  window  to  witness  the  start — 
had  been  a  long  one;  very  different  from  his  own 
brief  flight,  with  its  wretched  end.  These  thoughts 
coursed  rapidly  through  the  land  baron's  brain ;  her 
appearance  rekindled  the  ashes  of  the  past;  the  fire 
in  his  breast  flamed  from  his  eyes,  but  otherwise  he 
made  no  display  of  feeling.  He  glanced  out  upon 
the  many  faces  below  them,  bowing  to  one  woman 
and  smiling  at  another. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  stand  a  winter  in  the  North,"  re- 
sumed the  patroon,  turning  once  more  to  the  soldier. 
"Although  the  barn-burners  promised  to  make  it 
warm  for  me !" 

Offering  no  reply  to  this  sally,  Saint-Prosper's  gaze 
continued  to  rest  coldly  and  expectantly  upon  the 
other.  Goaded  by  that  arbitrary  regard,  an  implied 
barrier  between  him  and  the  young  girl,  the  land  baron 
sought  to  press  forward;  his  glittering  eyes  met  the 
other's;  the  glances  they  exchanged  were  like  the 
thrust  and  parry  of  swords.  Without  wishing  to  ad- 
dress the  actress — and  thereby  risk  a  public  rebuff — 


242  THE    STROLLERS 

it  was,  nevertheless,  impossible  for  the  hot-blooded 
Southerner  to  submit  to  peremptory  restraint.  Who 
had  made  the  soldier  his  taskmaster  ?  He  read  Saint- 
Prosper 's  purpose  and  was  not  slow  to  retaliate. 

"If  I  am  not  mistaken,  yonder  is  our  divinity  of 
the  lane,"  said  the  patroon  softly.  "Permit  me/'' 
And  he  strove  to  pass. 

The  soldier  did  not  move. 

"You  are  blocking  my  way,  Monsieur,"  continued 
the  other,  sharply. 

"Not  if  it  lies  the  other  way." 

"This  way,  or  that  way,  how  does  it  concern  you  ?" 
retorted  the  land  baron. 

"If  you  seek  further  to  annoy  a  lady  whom  you  have 
already  sufficiently  wronged,  it  is  any  man's  concern." 

"Especially  if  he  has  followed  her  across  the  coun- 
try," sneered  Mauville.  "Besides,  since  when  have 
actresses  become  so  chary  of  their  favors?"  In  his 
anger  the  land  baron  threw  out  intimations  he  would 
have  challenged  from  other  lips.  "Has  the  stage  then 
become  a  holy  convent?" 

"You  stamped  yourself  a  scoundrel  some  time  ago,'" 
said  the  soldier  slowly,  as  though  weighing  each  word, 
"and  now  show  yourself  a  coward  when  you  malign 
a  young  girl,  without  father,  brother — " 

"Or  lover!"  interrupted  the  land  baron.  "Perhaps, 
however,  you  were  only  traveling  to  see  the  country ! 
A  grand  tour,  enlivened  with  studies  of  human  na- 
ture, as  well  as  glimpses  of  scenery !" 


AT   THE   RACES  243 

"Have  you  anything  further  with  me?"  interjected 
Saint-Prosper,  curtly. 

The  patroon's  blood  coursed,  burning,  through  his 
vpins;  the  other's  contemptuous  manner  stung  him 
more  fiercely  than  language. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  meaningly,  his  eyes  challenging 
Saint-Prosper's.  "Have  you  been  at  Spedella's  fenc- 
ing rooms  ?  Are  you  in  practice  ?" 

Saint-Prosper  hesitated  a  moment  and  the  land 
baron's  face  fell.  Was  it  possible  the  other  would 
refuse  to  meet  him?  But  he  would  not  let  him  off 
easily;  there  were  ways  to  force — and  suddenly  the 
words  of  the  marquis  recurring  to  him,  he  surveyed 
the  soldier,  disdainfully. 

"Gad!  you  must  come  of  a  family  of  cowards  and 
traitors!  But  you  shall  fight  or — the  public  becomes 
arbiter!"  And  he  half  raised  his  arm  threateningly. 

The  soldier's  tanned  cheek  was  now  as  pale  as  a 
moment  before  it  had  been  flushed ;  his  mouth  set  res- 
olutely, as  though  fighting  back  some  weakness. 
With  lowering  brows  and  darkening  glance  he  re- 
garded the  land  baron. 

"I  was  thinking,"  he  said  at  length,  with  an  effort, 
"that  if  I  killed  you,  people  would  want  to  know  the 
reason." 

The  patroon  laughed.  "How  solicitous  you  are  for 
her  welfare — and  mine!  Do  you  then  measure  skill 
only  by  inches?  If  so,  I  confess  you  would  stand  a 
fair  chance  of  despatching  me.  But  your  address? 
The  St.  Charles,  I  presume." 


244  THE   STROLLERS 

The  soldier  nodded  curtly,  and,  having  accom- 
plished his  purpose,  Mauville  had  turned  to  leave, 
when  loud  voices,  in  a  front  box  near  the  right  aisle, 
attracted  general  attention  from  those  occupying  that 
part  of  the  grand  stand.  The  young  officer  who  had 
accompanied  Susan  to  the  races  was  angrily  confront- 
ing a  thick-set  man,  the  latest  recruit  to  her  corps  of 
willing  captives.  The  lad  had  assumed  the  arduous 
task  of  guarding  the  object  of  his  fancy  from  all 
comers,  simply  because  she  had  been  kind.  And  why 
should  she  not  have  been? — he  was  only  a  boy — she 
was  old  enough  to  be — well,  an  adviser !  When,  after 
a  brief  but  pointed  altercation,  he  flung  himself  away 
with  a  last  reproachful  look  in  the  direction  of  his 
enslaver,  Susan  looked  hurt.  That  was  her  reward 
for  being  nice  to  a  child ! 

"A  fractious  young  cub!"  said  the  thick-set  man, 
complacently. 

"Well,  I  like  cubs  better  than  bears!"  retorted 
Susan,  pointedly. 

Not  long,  however,  could  the  interest  of  the  spec- 
tators be  diverted  from  the  amusement  of  the  day 
and  soon  all  eyes  were  drawn  once  more  to  the  track 
where  the  horses'  hoofs  resounded  with  exciting  pat- 
ter, as  they  struggled  toward  the  wire,  urged  by  the 
stimulating  voices  of  the  jockeys. 

But  even  when  Leduc  won  the  race,  beating  the  best 
heat  on  record;  when  the  ladies  in  the  grand  stand 
arose  in  a  body,  like  a  thousand  butterflies,  disturbed 
by  a  sudden  footfall  in  a  sunlit  field ;  when  the  jockey 


AT   THE   RACES  245 

became  the  hero  of  the  hour;  when  the  small  boys 
outside  nearly  fell  from  the  trees  in  their  exuberance 
of  ecstasy,  and  the  men  threw  their  hats  in  the  air 
and  shouted  themselves  hoarse — even  these  exhila- 
rating1 circumstances  failed  to  reawaken  the  land  bar- 
on's concern  in  the  scene  around  him.  His  efforts  at 
indifference  were  chafing  his  inmost  being;  the  cloak 
of  insouciance  was  stifling  him ;  the  primeval  man  was 
struggling  for  expression,  that  brute-like  rage  whose 
only  limits  are  its  own  fury  and  violence. 

A  quavering  voice,  near  at  hand,  recalled  him  to 
himself,  and  turning,  he  beheld  the  marquis  approach- 
ing with  mincing  manner,  the  paint  and  pigments 
cracked  by  the  artificial  smiles  wreathing  his  wrinkled 
face.  In  that  vast  assemblage,  amid  all  the  energy, 
youth  and  surfeit  of  vitality,  he  seemed  like  a  dried 
and  crackling  leaf,  tossed  helplessly,  which  any  foot 
might  crush  to  dust.  The  roar  of  the  multitude  sub- 
sided, a  storm  dying  in  the  distance;  the  ladies  sank 
in  their  seats — butterflies  settling  once  more  in  the 
fields — and  Leduc,  with  drooping  head,  was  led  to 
the  paddock,  followed  by  a  few  fair  adorers. 

"I  placed  the  winner,  Monsieur  Mauville,"  piped  the 
marquis.  "Though  the  doctors  told  me  the  excitement 
would  kill  me!  What  folly!  Every  new  sensation 
adds  a  day  to  life." 

"In  your  case,  certainly,  Marquis,  for  I  never  saw 
you  looking  younger,"  answered  the  land  baron,  with 
an  effort. 

"You  are  too  amiable,  my  dear  friend  1    The  ladies 


246  THE    STROLLERS 

would  not  think  so,"  he  added,  mournfully  wagging 
his  head  with  anile  melancholy. 

"Nonsense!"  protested  the  other.  "With  your 
spirit,  animation — " 

"If  I  thought  you  were  right,"  interrupted  the  de- 
lighted marquis,  taking  his  young  friend's  arm,  "I 
would  ask  you  to  present  me  to  the  lady  over  there — 
the  one  you  just  bowed  to." 

"The  deuce !"  said  Mauville  to  himself.  "The  mar- 
quis is  becoming  a  bore." 

"You  rascal !  I  saw  the  smile  she  gave  you,"  con- 
tinued the  other  playfully.  "And  you  ran  away  from 
her.  What  are  the  young  men  made  of  nowadays? 
In  the  old  days  they  were  tinder ;  women  sparks.  But 
who  is  she  ?" 

"You  mean  Susan  Duran,  the  actress?" 

"An  actress !"  exclaimed  the  nobleman.  "A  charm- 
ing creature  at  any  rate !" 

"All  froth;  a  bubble!"  added  Mauville  impatiently. 

"How  entertaining!  Any  lovers?"  leered  the  no- 
bleman. 

"A  dozen ;  a  baker's  dozen,  for  all  I  know !" 

"What  is  her  history?"  said  the  marquis  eagerly. 

"I  never  inquired." 

"Sometimes  it's  just  as  well,"  murmured  the  other 
vaguely.  "How  old  is  she  ?" 

"How  can  you  tell  ?"  answered  Mauville. 

"In  Paris  I  kept  a  little  book  wherein  was  entered 
the  passe-parole  of  every  pretty  woman ;  age ;  lovers 
platonic!  When  a  woman  became  a  grandmother,  I 


ATTHERACES  247 

put  a  black  mark  against  her  name,  for  I  have  always 
held,"  continued  the  nobleman,  wagging  his  head, 
"that  a  woman  who  is  a  grandmother  has  no  business 
to^  deceive  a  younger  generation  of  men.  But  pre- 
sent me  to  Miss  Susan  at  once,  my  dear  friend.  I  am 
all  impatience  to  meet  her." 

His  eagerness  permitted  no  refusal ;  besides,  Mau- 
ville  was  not  in  the  mood  to  enjoy  the  nobleman's 
society,  and  was  but  too  pleased  to  turn  him  over  to 
the  tender  care  of  Susan. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Duran,"  he  said,  having 
made  his  way  to  her  box. 

"Where  did  you  drop  from?"  she  asked,  in  sur- 
prise, giving  him  her  hand. 

"The  skies,"  he  returned,  with  forced  lightness. 

"A  fallen  angel !"  commented  Susan. 

"Good!  Charming!"  cried  the  marquis,  clapping 
his  withered  hands. 

"Miss  Duran,  the  Marquis  de  Ligne  has  requested 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  you." 

She  flashed  a  smile  at  him.  He  bent  over  her  hand ; 
held  it  a  moment  in  his  icy  grasp. 

"The  pleasure,"  said  Susan,  prettily,  not  shirking 
the  ordeal,  "is  mine." 

"In  which  case,"  added  Mauville,  half  ironically, 
"I  will  leave  you  together  to  enjoy  your  happiness." 

Eagerly  availing  himself  of  the  place  offered  at  her 
side,  soon  the  marquis  was  cackling  after  the  manner 
of  a  senile  beau  of  the  old  school ;  relating  spicy  anec- 
dotes of  dames  who  had  long  departed  this  realm  of 


248  THE    STROLLERS 

scandal;  and  mingling  witticism  and  wickedness  in 
one  continual  flow,  until  like  a  panorama  another  age 
was  revived  in  his  words — an  age  when  bedizened 
women  wore  patches  and  their  perfumed  gallants 
wrote  verses  on  the  demise  of  their  lap-dogs;  when 
"their  virtue  resembled  a  statesman's  religion,  the 
Quaker's  word,  the  gamester's  oath  and  the  great 
man's  honor — but  to  cheat  those  that  trusted  them !" 

The  day's  events,  however,  were  soon  over ;  the  city 
of  pleasure  finally  capitulated ;  its  people  began  rap- 
idly to  depart.  That  sudden  movement  resembled 
the  migration  of  a  swarm  of  bees  to  form  a  new  col- 
ony, when,  if  the  day  be  bright,  the  expedition  issues 
forth  with  wondrous  rapidity.  So  this  human  hive 
commenced  to  empty  itself  of  queens,  drones  and 
workers.  It  was  an  outgoing  wave  of  such  life  and 
animation  as  is  apparent  in  the  flight  of  a  swarm  of 
cell-dwellers,  giving  out  a  loud  and  sharp-toned  hum 
from  the  action  of  their  wings  as  they  soar  over  the 
blooming  heather  and  the  "bright  consummate  flow- 
ers." And  these  human  bees  had  their  passions,  too ! 
their  massacres;  their  tragedies;  their  "Rival 
Queens" ;  their  combats ;  their  sentinels ;  their  dreams 
of  that  Utopian  form  of  government  realized  in  the 
communistic  society  of  insects. 

"How  did  you  enjoy  it,  my  dear?"  asked  Barnes, 
suddenly  reappearing  at  Constance's  box.  "A  grand 
heat,  that!  Though  I  did  bet  on  the  wrong  horse! 
But  don't  wait  for  us,  Saint-Prosper.  Mrs.  Adams 
and  I  will  take  our  time  getting  through  the  crowd. 


AT   THE   RACES  249 

I  will  see  you  at  the  hotel,  my  dear!"  he  added,  as  the 
soldier  and  Constance  moved  away. 

Only  the  merry  home-going  remained,  and  the  cul- 
mination, a  dinner  at  Moreau's,  Victor's,  or  Miguel's, 
the  natural  epilogue  to  the  day's  pastime,  the  tag  to 
the  comedy !  In  the  returning  throng  were  Creoles 
with  sky-blue  costumes  and  palmetto  hats;  the  La- 
fourche  or  Attakapas  planter;  representatives  of  the 
older  regime  and  the  varied  newer  populace.  Superb 
equipages  mingled  in  democratic  confusion  with  carts 
and  wagons;  the  broken-winded  nag  and  spavined 
crowbait — veterans  at  the  bugle  call! — pricked  up 
their  ears  and  kicked  up  their  heels  like  colts  in  pasture, 
while  the  delighted  darkies  thumped  their  bony 
shanks  to  encourage  this  brief  rejuvenescence. 

Those  who  had  lost  felt  the  money  well  spent; 
those  who  had  won  would  be  the  more  lavish  in  the 
spending.  They  had  simply  won  a  few  more  pleas- 
ures. "Quick  come ;  quick  go !"  sang  the  whirling 
wheels.  "The  niggard  in  pound  and  pence  is  a  usurer 
in  happiness ;  a  miser  driving  a  hard  bargain  with 
pleasure.  Better  burn  the  candle  at  both  ends  than 
not  burn  it  at  all !  In  one  case,  you  get  light ;  in  the 
other  nothing  but  darkness.  Laughter  is  cheap  at 
any  price.  A  castle  in  the  air  is  almost  as  durable  as 
Solomon's  temple.  How  soon — how  soon  both  fade 
away !" 

Thus  ran  the  song  of  the  wheels  before  them  and 
behind  them,  as  the  soldier  and  Constance  joined  the 
desultory  fag-end  of  the  procession.  On  either  side 


250  THE   STROLLERS 

of  the  road  waved  the  mournful  cypress,  draped  by 
the  hoary  tillandsia,  and  from  the  somber  depths  of 
foliage  came  the  chirp  of  the  tree-crickets  and  the 
note  of  the  swamp  owl.  Faint  music,  in  measured 
rhythm,  a  foil  to  disconnected  wood-sound,  was  wafted 
from  a  distant  plantation. 

"Wait !"  said  Constance. 

He  drew  in  the  horses  and  silently  they  listened. 
Or,  was  he  listening?  His  glance  seemed  bent  so 
moodily — almost! — on  space  she  concluded  he  was 
not.  She  stole  a  sidelong  look  at  him. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts !"  she  said  gaily. 

He  started.  "I  was  thinking  how  soon  I  might 
leave  New  Orleans." 

"Leave  New  Orleans!"  she  repeated  in  surprise. 
"But  I  thought  you  intended  staying  here.  Why- 
have  you  changed  your  mind  ?" 

Did  he  detect  a  subtle  accent  of  regret  in  her  voice  ? 
A  deep  flush  mounted  to  his  brow.  He  bent  over  her 
suddenly,  eagerly. 

"Would  it  matter— if  I  went?" 

She  drew  back  at  the  abruptness  of  his  words. 

"How  unfair  to  answer  one  question  with  another !" 
she  said  lightly. 

A  pause  fell  between  them.  Perhaps  she,  too,  felt 
the  sudden  repulse  of  her  own  answer  and  the  ensuing 
constraint.  Perhaps  some  compunction  moved  her  to 
add  in  a  voice  not  entirely  steady: 

"And  so  you  think — of  going  back  to  France?" 


AT   THE   RACES  251 

"To  France!"  he  repeated,  quickly.  "No" — and 
stopped. 

Looking-  up,  a  half-questioning  light  in  her  eyes 
topk  flight  to  his,  until  suddenly  arrested  by  the  hard, 
set  expression  of  his  features.  Abruptly  chilled  by 
she  knew  not  what,  her  lashes  fell.  The  horses 
champed  their  bits  and  tugged  at  the  reins,  impatient 
of  the  prolonged  pause. 
."Let  us  go!"  she  said  in  a  low,  constrained  voice. 

At  her  words  he  turned,  the  harshness  dropping 
from  his  face  like  a  discarded  mask;  the  lines  of  de- 
termination wavering. 

"Let  us  go !"  she  said  again,  without  looking  up. 

He  made  no  motion  to  obey,  until  the  sound  of  a 
vehicle  behind  them  seemed  to  break  the  spell  and 
mechanically  he  touched  the  horses  with  the  whip. 


CHAPTER    IV 

LEAR  AND  JULIET 

Susan  dismissed  her  admirers  at  the  races  with  some 
difficulty,  especially  the  tenacious  marquis,  who  ten- 
derly squeezed  her  hand,  saying : 

"Were  I  twenty  years  younger,  I  would  not  thus 
be  set  aside." 

"Fie,  Marquis!"  she  returned.  "These  other  peo- 
ple are  dull,  while  you  are  charmingly  wicked." 

"You  flatter  me,"  he  cackled,  detaining  her,  to  the 
impatience  of  the  thick-set  man  who  was  waiting  to 
escort  the  young  woman  back  to  town.  "But  do  you 
notice  the  gentleman  over  there  with  the  medals?" 

"The  distinguished-looking  man?"  asked  Susan. 

"Yes;  that  is  the  Count  de  Propriac.  It  was  he 
who  was  one  of  the  agents  of  Louis  Philippe  in  the 
Spanish  double  marriage  plot.  It  was  arranged  the 
queen  should  marry  her  cousin,  and  her  sister  the 
son  of  Louis  Philippe.  The  queen  and  her  cousin 
were  not  expected  to  have  children — but  had  them,  to 
spite  us  all,  and  Louis  Philippe's  projects  for  the 
throne  of  Spain  failed  disastrously." 
(252) 


LEAR   AND   JULIET  253 

"How  inconsiderate  of  the  queen!  Good  after- 
noon, marquis !  I  have  been  vastly  entertained." 

"And  I" — kissing  her  hand — "enamored!"  Then, 
chuckling1:  "A  week  ago  my  stupid  doctors  had  me 
l^id  out  in  funereal  dignity,  and  now  I  am  making 
love  to  a  fine  woman.  Pretty  pouting  lips!" — tap- 
ping her  chin  playfully — "Like  rose-buds !  Happy 
the  lover  who  shall  gather  the  dew!  But  we  meet 
again,  Mistress  Susan?" 

"That  will  depend  upon  you,  marquis,"  answered 
Susan,  coquettishly,  as  a  thought  flashed  through  her 
mind  that  it  would  not  be  unpleasant  to  be  called 
"Marquise,"  or  "Marchioness" — she  did  not  quite 
know  which  would  be  the  proper  title.  It  was  nearly 
vesper-time  with  the  old  nobleman;  he  seemed  but  a 
procrastinating  presence  in  the  evening  of  mortal  life ; 
a  chateau  and  carriage — 

"Then  we  will  meet  again,"  said  the  marquis,  in- 
terrupting these  new-born  ambitions. 

"In  that  case  you  would  soon  get  tired  of  me," 
laughed  Susan. 

"Never!"     Tenderly.     "When  may  I  see  you?" 

"How  importunate  you  are!     Call  when  you  will." 

"But  if  you  are  out" — he  insisted. 

"That  will  make  it  the  more  delightfully  uncertain," 
she  said  gaily. 

"So  it  will!"  Rubbing  his  hands.  "Delightfully 
uncertain !"  he  repeated.  And  he  departed  with  many 
protestations,  taking  no  more  notice  of  the  thick-set 
man  than  if  he  were  a  block  of  wood. 


254  THE    STROLLERS 

"What  an  old  ape!"  growled  the  latter,  viciously, 
as  the  marquis  ambled  from  their  stall. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  answered  Susan,  tossing  her 
head.  "He  has  that  air  of  distinction  which  only 
persons  of  rank  and  title  can  command." 

"Distinction!"  said  the  other,  who  was  but  a  well- 
to-do  merchant.  "I  should  call  it  bad  manners." 

"Because  he  never  noticed  you!"  laughed  Susan, 
spitefully.  "But  why  are  we  standing  here?  I  be- 
lieve you  expect  to  take  me  home,  don't  you?" 

Although  she  chattered  like  a  magpie  on  the  road,  he 
was  silent  and  sullen,  nursing  his  injured  pride  and 
wounded  self-sufficiency.  Susan,  who  was  interested 
in  him  for  the  novel  reason  she  disliked  him  so  heart- 
ily, parted  from  him  with  the  air  of  a  duchess,  and 
entered  the  hotel,  holding  her  head  so  high  that  he 
swore  under  his  breath  as  he  drove  away.  And,  as  a 
result  of  the  quarrel  with  the  lad,  he  would  probably 
have  to  risk  being  "pinked"  for  this  jade!  Susan,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  as  happy  as  a  lark  when  she  en- 
tered the  dining-room  of  the  St.  Charles,  that  great 
eating-place  and  meeting-place  of  all  classes  of  peo- 
ple. 

As  she  seated  herself  at  a  table,  a  smile  lurked 
around  the  corners  of  her  mouth  and  flickered  faintly 
upon  the  waiter  who  forthwith  became  a  Mercury  for 
expedition  and  a  prodigal  for  variety.  Her  quarrel 
on  the  road  with  her  companion  had  in  nowise  in- 
terfered with  that  appetite  which  the  fresh  air  and  the 


LEAR   AND   JULIET  255 

lateness  of  the  hour  had  provoked,  nor  were  her 
thoughts  of  a  character  to  deter  from  the  zest  of  eat- 
ing. 

From  the  present  to  the  past  was  but  an  instant's 
flight  of  the  mind — thus  may  the  once  august  years 
swiftly  and  unceremoniously  be  marshaled  by! — and 
she  dwelt  in  not  unpleasing  retrospection  on  an  endless 
field  of  investigation  and  discovery  and  the  various 
experiences  which  had  befallen  her  in  arriving  at  the 
present  period  of  mature  knowledge;  a  proficiency 
which  converted  her  chosen  researches  into  an  exact 
science. 

Thus  meditating  and  dining—counting  on  her  fin- 
gers twice  over  the  fair  actresses  who  had  become 
titled  ladies,  and  enviously  disbelieving  she  would 
join  that  triumphant  company — Susan  was  still  seated 
at  the  table  some  time  later  when  the  soldier  glanced 
in.  Imperatively  she  motioned  him  to  her  side  and 
he  obeyed  with  not  entirely  concealed  reluctance,  and 
was  so  preoccupied,  she  rallied  him  upon  his  reserve. 

"I  believe  you  and  Constance  had  a  quarrel  on  the 
road."  Maliciously.  "I  hope  you  were  more  amia- 
ble than  my  companion.  He  hardly  spoke  a  word, 
and,  when  I  left  him" — her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper — 
"I  heard  him  swear." 

"He  pleased  you  so  much  earlier  in  the  day  that  a 
duel  will  probably  be  the  outcome." 

Susan  laughed  gaily. 

"A  duel !    Then  my  fortune  is  made.    All  the  news- 


256  THE    STROLLERS 

papers  will  contain  paragraphs.  It  is  too  good  to  be 
true."  And  she  clapped  her  hands.  "When  is  it  to 
take  place  ?  Tell  me  about  it !" 

Then  noting  his  manner,  she  continued  with  an  as- 
sumption of  plaintiveness :  "Now  you  are  cross  with 
me!  You  think  me  heartless.  Is  it  my  fault?  I 
care  nothing  for  either  of  them  and  I  am  not  to  be 
blamed  if  they  are  so  foolish.  It  might  be"  different 
if  either  had  touched  my  heart."  And  she  assumed  a 
coquettish  demeanor,  while  Saint-Prosper  coolly 
studied  her  through  the  wreaths  of  smoke  from  his 
weed. 

"You  are  wondering  what  sort  of  a  person  I  am !" 
she  continued,  merrily,  raising  her  glass  of  wine  with : 
"To  unrequited  passion !" 

Her  roguish  face  sparkled  as  he  asked :     "Whose  ?" 

She  drained  the  glass  and  set  it  down  demurely. 
"Mine !" 

The  cigar  was  suspended;  the  veil  cleared  between 
them. 

"For  whom  ?"  he  said. 

"You!"  Offering  him  the  limpid  depths  of  her 
blue  eyes.  "Is  my  liking  returned?" 

"Liking?    Perhaps!" 

"My  love?" 

"Love?    No."     Coldly. 

"You  do  not  fear  a  woman  scorned?"  Her  lips 
curved  in  a  smile,  displaying  her  faultless  teeth. 

"Not  when  the  avenging  angel  is  so  charming  and 
so  heartless !"  he  added  satirically. 


LEAR   AND   JULIET  257 

Her  lashes  veiled  the  azure  orbs. 

"You  think  to  disarm  her  with  a  compliment  ?  How 
well  you  understand  women !"  And,  as  he  rose,  the 
pressure  of  the  hand  she  gave  him  at  parting  was 
lingering. 


Above  in  his  room,  Barnes,  with  plays  and  manu- 
scripts scattered  around  him,  was  engaged  in  writing 
in  his  note  and  date  book,  wherein  autobiography, 
ledger  and  journal  accounts,  and  such  miscellaneous 
matter  mingled  indiscriminately.  "To-day  she  said  to 
me :  'I  am  going  to  the  races  with  Mr.  Saint-Prosper/ 
What  did  I  say?  'Yes,'  of  course.  What  can  there 
be  in  common  between  Lear  and  Juliet?  Naturally, 
she  sometimes  turns  from  an  old  fellow  like  me — now, 
if  she  were  only  a  slip  of  a  girl  again — with  her  short 
frock — her  disorder  of  long  ringlets — running  and 
romping — 

"A  thousand  details  pass  through  my  mind,  remi- 
niscences of  her  girlhood,  lightening  a  lonesome  life 
like  glimmerings  of  sunshine  in  a  secluded  wood; 
memories  of  her  mother  and  the  old  days  when  she 
played  in  my  New  York  theater — for  Barnes,  the 
stroller,  was  once  a  metropolitan  manager!  Her 
fame  had  preceded  her  and  every  admirer  of  histrir 
onic  art  eagerly  awaited  her  arrival. 

"But  the  temple  of  art  is  a  lottery.  The  town  that 
had  welcomed  her  so  wildly  now  went  Elssler-mad. 
The  gossamer  floatings  of  this  French  danscusc  pos- 


258  THE    STROLLERS 

sessed  everyone.  People  courted  trash  and  trumpery. 
Greatness  gave  way  to  triviality.  This  pitiful  condi- 
tion preyed  upon  her.  The  flame  of  genius  never  for 
a  moment  became  less  dim,  but  her  eyes  grew  larger, 
brighter,  more  melancholy.  Sometimes  she  would 
fall  into  a  painful  reverie  and  I  knew  too  well  the  sub- 
ject of  her  thoughts.  With  tender  solicitude  she 
would  regard  her  daughter,  thinking,  thinking!  She 
was  her  only  hope,  her  only  joy ! 

"  'The  town  wants  dancers,  not  tragedians,  Mr. 
Barnes/  she  said  sadly  one  day. 

"  'Nonsense/  I  replied.  'The  town  wants  a  change 
of  bill.  We  will  put  on  a  new  piece  next  week.' 

"  'It  will  be  but  substituting  one  tragedy  for  an- 
other/ she  retorted.  'One  misfortune  for  a  different 
one!  You  should  import  a  rival  dancer.  You  are 
going  down ;  down  hill !  I  will  leave  you ;  perhaps 
you  will  discover  your  dancer,  and  your  fortune  is 
made !' 

"  'And  you  ?  What  would  you  do  ?'  I  demanded. 
'And  your  child  ?' 

"At  this  her  eyes  filled  and  she  could  not  answer. 
'And  now,  Madam/  I  said  firmly,  'I  refuse  once  and 
for  all  to  permit  you  to  break  your  contract.  Pooh! 
The  tide  will  change.  Men  and  women  are  some- 
times fools ;  but  they  are  not  fools  all  the  time.  The 
dancer  will  have  had  her  day.  She  will  twirl  her 
toes  to  the  empty  seats  and  throw  her  kisses  into  un- 
responsive space.  Our  patrons  will  gradually  re- 


LEAR   AND   JULIET  259 

turn ;  they  will  grow  tired  of  wriggling  and  twisting, 
and  look  again  for  a  more  substantial  diet/ 

"Matters   did,    indeed,   begin   to   mend   somewhat, 
when  to  bring  the  whole  fabric  tumbling  down  on 
our  heads,  this  incomparable  woman  fell  ill. 
'  'You  see  ?     I  have  ruined  you/  she  said  sadly. 

"  'I  am  honored,  Madam/  was  all  I  could  reply. 

"She  placed  her  hand  softly  on  mine  and  let  her 
luminous  eyes  rest  on  me. 

'  'Dear  old  friend !'  she  murmured. 

"Then  she  closed  her  eyes  and  I  thought  she  was 
sleeping.  Some  time  elapsed  when  she  again  opened 
them. 

"  'Death  will  break  our  contract,  Mr.  Barnes,'  she 
said  softly. 

"I  suppose  my  hand  trembled,  for  she  tightened 
her  grasp  and  continued  firmly :  'It  is  not  so  terrible, 
after  all,  or  would  not  be,  but  for  one  thing/ 

"  'You  will  soon  get  well,  Madam/  I  managed  to 
stammer. 

'"No!  Do  you  care?  It  is  pleasant  to  have  one 
true,  kind  friend  in  the  world ;  one  who  makes  a 
woman  believe  again  in  the  nobility  of  human  nature. 
My  life  has  been  sad  as  you  know.  I  should  not  regret 
giving  it  up.  Nor  should  I  fear  to  die.  I  can  not 
think  that  God  will  be  unkind  to  one  who  has  done  her 
best ;  at  least,  has  tried  to.  Yet  there  is  one  thing  that 
makes  me  crave  for  life.  My  child — what  will  she  do 
— poor,  motherless,  fatherless  girl— all  alone,  all 
alone — . 


260  THE    STROLLERS 

"  'Madam,  if  I  may — will  you  permit  me  to  care 
for  her?  If  I  might  regard  her  as  my  child !' 

"How  tightly  she  held  my  hand  at  that !  Her  eyes 
seemed  to  blaze  with  heavenly  fire.  But  let  me  not 
dwell  further  upon  the  sad  events  that  led  to  the  end 
of  her  noble  career.  Something  of  her  life  I  had 
heard ;  something,  I  surmised.  Unhappy  as  a  woman, 
she  was  majestic  as  an  actress;  the  fire  of  her  voice 
struck  every  ear;  its  sweetness  had  a  charm,  never  to 
be  forgotten.  But  only  to  those  who  knew  her  well 
were  revealed  the  unvarying  truth  and  simplicity  of 
her  nature.  Even  as  I  write,  her  spirit,  tender  and 
steadfast,  seems  standing  by  my  side ;  I  feel  her  eyes 
in  the  darkness  of  night,  and,  when  the  time  comes — 
and  often  of  late,  it  has  seemed  not  far — to  go  from 
this  mere  dressing-room,  the  earth,  into  the  higher 
life—" 

A  knock  at  the  door  rudely  dispelled  these  memo- 
ries. For  a  moment  the  manager  looked  startled,  as 
one  abruptly  called  back  to  his  immediate  surround- 
ings ;  then  the  pen  fell  from  his  hand,  and  he  pushed 
the  book  from  him  to  the  center  of  the  table. 

"Come  in,"  he  said. 

The  door  opened  and  Saint-Prosper  entered. 

"Am  I  interrupting  you?"  asked  the  soldier,  glanc- 
ing at  the  littered  table. 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  the  manager,  recovering 
himself,  and  settling  back  in  his  chair.  "Make  your- 
self at  home.  You'll  find  some  cigars  on  the  mantel, 
or  if  you  prefer  your  pipe,  there's  a  jar  of  tobacco  on 


LEAR   AND   JULIET  261 

the"  trunk.  Do  you  find  it  ?  I  haven't  had  time  yet 
to  bring  order  out  of  chaos.  A  manager's  trunks  are 
like  a  junk-shop,  with  everything  from  a  needle  to  an 
arichor." 

Filling  his  pipe  from  the  receptacle  indicated,  which 
lay  among  old  costumes  and  wigs,  the  soldier 
seated  himself  near  an  open  window  that  looked  out 
upon  a  balcony.  Through  a  door  at  the  far  end  of 
the  balcony  a  light  streamed  from  a  chandelier  within, 
playing  upon  the  balustrade.  Once  the  figure  of  the 
young  actress  stepped  for  a  moment  out  upon  the 
balcony ;  she  leaned  upon  the  balustrade,  looked  across 
the  city,  breathed  the  perfume  of  the  flowers,  and  then 
quickly  vanished. 

"Can  you  spare  me  a  little  time  to-morrow  morning 
—  early  —  before  rehearsal?"  said  Saint-Prosper, 
finally. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  manager,  in  surprise.  "What 
is  it?" 

"A  foolish  piece  of  business!  The  patroon  is  in 
New  Orleans." 

Barnes  uttered  an  exclamation  of  annoyance  and 
apprehension.  "Here !  What  is  he  doing  here  ?"  he 
said.  "I  thought  we  had  seen  the  last  of  him.  Has 
he  followed — Constance  ?" 

"I  don't  know.     We  met  yesterday  at  the  races." 

"It  is  strange  she  did  not  tell  me  about  it,"  re- 
marked the  manager,  without  endeavoring  to  conceal 
the  anxiety  this  unexpected  information  afforded 
him. 


262  THE   STROLLERS 

"She  does  not  know  he  is  here."  And  Saint-Pros- 
per briefly  related  the  circumstances  of  his  meeting 
with  the  land  baron,  to  which  the  manager  listened 
attentively. 

"And  so  she  must  be  dragged  into  it?"  exclaimed 
Barnes  at  length,  resentfully.  "Her  name  must  be- 
come public  property  in  a  broil?" 

A  frown  darkened  the  soldier's  face,  but  he  replied 
quickly:  "Need  any  one  know?  The  land  baron  has 
not  been  seen  with  her." 

"No ;  but  you  have,"  returned  the  manager,  sudden- 
ly pausing  and  looking  down  at  the  other. 

The  silence  between  them  lasted  for  some  moments. 
Barnes  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  face 
downcast  and  moody.  He  felt  that  events  were  hap- 
pening over  which  he  had  no  control,  but  which  were 
shaping  the  destiny  of  all  he  loved  best.  In  the  dim 
light  the  rugged  lines  of  his  countenance  were  strong- 
ly, decisively  outlined.  Turning  to  the  trunk,  with  a 
quick,  nervous  step,  he  filled  a  pipe  himself.  After 
he  had  lighted  it,  he  once  more  contemplated  the  sol- 
dier, thinking  deeply,  reviewing  the  past. 

"We  have  been  together  for  some  time,  Mr.  Saint- 
Prosper,"  he  said,  at  length.  "We  have  gone  through 
fair  and  rough  weather,  and" — he  paused  a  moment 
before  continuing — "should  understand  each  other. 
You  asked  me  when  you  came  in  if  you  were  inter- 
rupting me,  and  I  told  you  that  you  were  not.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  you  were." 


LEAR   AND   JULIET  263 

And,  walking  to  a  table,  Barnes  took  up  the  note- 
book. 

"A  garrulous,  single  man  must  tell  his  little  secrets 
somewhere,"  he  continued.  "Will  you  look  at  the 
pages  I  was  writing  when  you  came  in  ?" 

Saint-Prosper  took  the  book,  and,  while  he  was 
turning  the  leaves  that  were  hardly  dry,  the  manager 
relighted  his  pipe,  over  which  he  glanced  nervously 
from  time  to  time  at  his  companion.  Finally,  when 
the  soldier  had  finished  the  perusal  of  the  diary, 
Barnes  turned  to  him  expectantly,  but  the  other  silent- 
ly laid  down  the  little  volume,  and,  after  waiting  some 
moments  for  him  to  speak,  the  manager,  as  though 
disappointed  by  his  reticence,  breathed  a  sigh.  Then, 
clearing  his  throat,  in  a  voice  somewhat  husky,  he 
went  on,  simply : 

"You  will  understand  now  why  she  is  so  much  to 
me.  I  have  always  wanted  to  keep  her  from  the 
world  as  much  as  possible ;  to  have  her  world,  her  art ! 
I  have  tried  to  keep  the  shadow  of  the  past  from  her. 
An  actress  has  a  pretty  face;  and  there's  a  hue  and 
cry!  It  is  not  notoriety  she  seeks,  but  fame;  fame, 
bright  and  pure  as  sunlight !" 

"The  land  baron  will  not  cry  abroad  the  cause  of 
the  meeting,"  said  the  soldier,  gravely.  "These  fash- 
ionable affairs  need  but  flimsy  pretexts." 

"Flimsy  pretexts !"  cried  Barnes.  "A  woman's  rep- 
utation— her  good  name — " 

"Hush!"  said  Saint-Prosper. 


264  THE   STROLLERS 

From  the  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  balcony  Con- 
stance had  again  emerged  and  now  approached 
their  room.  A  flowing  gown  of  an  early  period  sur- 
rounded her  like  a  cloud  as  she  paused  before  Barnes' 
apartment.  At  the  throat  a  deep-falling  collar  was 
closely  fastened ;  the  sleeves  were  gathered  in  at 
elbow  and  wrist,  and  from  a  "coverchief,"  set  upon  the 
dusky  hair,  fell  a  long  veil  of  ample  proportions. 
With  the  light  shimmering  on  the  folds  of  her  raiment, 
she  stood  looking  through  the  open  door,  regarding  the 
manager  and  Saint-Prosper. 

"Oh,  you  are  not  alone?"  she  said  to  the  former. 
"You  look  as  though  you  were  talking  together  very 
seriously?"  she  added,  turning  to  Saint-Prosper. 

"Nothing  of  consequence,  Miss  Carew !"  he  replied, 
flushing  beneath  her  clear  eyes. 

''Only  about  some  scenery!"  interposed  the  man- 
ager, so  hastily  that  she  glanced,  slightly  surprised, 
from  the,  one  to  the  other.  "Some  sets  that  are — " 

"  'Flimsy  pretexts !'  I  caught  that  much !  I  only 
wanted  to  ask  you  about  this  costume.  Is  it  appropri- 
ate, do  you  think,  for  the  part  we  were  talking  about  ?" 
Turning  around  slowly,  with  arms  half-raised. 

"Charming,  my  dear;  charming!"  he  answered,  en- 
thusiastically. 

"If  I  only  thought  that  an  unbiased  criticism!" 
Her  dark  lashes  lowered ;  she  looked  toward  the  sol- 
dier, half  shyly,  half  mockingly.  "What  do  you  think, 
Mr.  Saint-Prosper?" 

At  that  moment  her  girlish  grace  was  irresistible. 


LEAR   AND   JULIET  265 

"I  think  it  is  not  only  appropriate,  but" — looking 
at  her  and  not  at  the  costume — "beautiful !" 

A  gleam  like  laughter  came  into  her  eyes;  nor  did 
she  shun  his  kindling  gaze. 

"Thank  you !"  she  said,  and  courtesied  low. 


That  same  evening  Spedella's  fencing  rooms  were 
fairly  thronged  with  devotees  of  the  ancient  art  of 
puncturing.  The  master  of  the  place  was  a  tall  Ital- 
ian, lank  and  lean,  all  bone  and  muscle,  with  a  Don 
Quixote  visage,  barring  a  certain  villainous  expres- 
sion of  the  eyes,  irreconcilable  with  the  chivalrous 
knight-errant  of  distressed  Dulcineas.  But  every  man 
with  a  bad  eye  is  not  necessarily  a  rascallion,  and 
Spedella,  perhaps,  was  better  than  he  looked.  With 
a  most  melancholy  glance  he  was  now  watching  two 
combatants,  novices  in  feats  of  arms.  Dejection  sat 
upon  his  brow ;  he  yawned  over  a  clumsy  fcinte  scconde, 
when  his  sinister  eyes  fell  on  a  figure  that  had  just 
entered  the  hall.  Immediately  his  melancholy  van- 
ished, and  he  advanced  to  meet  the.  newcomer  with 
stately  cordiality. 

"Well  met,  Mr.  Mauville,"  he  exclaimed,  extending 
a  bony  hand  that  had  fingers  like  the  grip  of  death. 
"What  good  fortune  brought  you  here  ?" 

"An  ill  wind,  Spedella,  rather!" 

"It's  like  a  breath  of  the  old  days  to  see  you ;  the  old 
days  before  you  began  your  wanderings!" 

"Get  the  foils,  Spedella;  I'll  have  a  bout  with  the 


266  THE   STROLLERS 

master.  Gad,  you're  as  ill-looking  as  ever !  It's  some 
time  since  I've  touched  a  foil.  I  want  to  test  myself. 
I  have  a  little  affair  to-morrow.  Hark  you,  my  old 
brigand ;  I  wish  to  see  if  I  can  kill  him !" 

"A  lad  of  spirit!"  chuckled  the  master,  a  gleam  of 
interest  illumining  his  cavernous  eyes.  "Young! — 
frisky ! — an  affair  of  honor  to-day  is  but  nursery  sport. 
Two  children  with  tin  swords  are  more  diverting. 
The  world  goes  backward!  A  counter-jumper  thinks 
he  can  lunge,  because  he  is  spry,  that  he  can  touch  a 
button  because  he  sells  them.  And  I  am  wasting  my 
genius  with  ribbon-venders — " 

"I  see  the  wolf  growls  as  much  as  ever!"  said  the 
patroon.  "Here's  a  quiet  corner.  Come ;  tell  me  what 
I've  forgotten." 

"Good!"  returned  the  other.  "You  can  tell  me 
about  your  travels  as  we  fence." 

"Hang  my  travels !"  replied  the  patroon,  as  they 
leisurely  engaged-  "They've  brought  me  nothing  but 
regrets." 

"Feinte  Hanconnade — well  done !"  murmured  Spe- 
della.  "So  it  was  not  honey  you  brought  home  from 
your  rambles?  Feinte  seconde  and  decisive  tierce! 
It's  long  since  I've  touched  a  good  blade.  These 
glove-sellers  and  perfume-dealers — " 

"You  are  bitter  against  trade,  my  bravo,"  remarked 
the  land  baron. 

"I  was  spoiling  with  languor  when  you  came.  Not 
bad,  that  feint — but  dangerous,  because  of  the  possi- 
bility of  misjudging  the  attack.  Learn  the  paroles  he 


LEAR   AND   JULIET  267 

affects  to-morrow  by  quick,  simple  thrusts,  and  then 
you  will  know  what  feints  to  attack  him  with.  Time 
in  octave — you  quitted  the  blade  in  a  dangerous  po- 
skion.  Cluck;  cluck,  my  game  cock!  Intemperance 
has  befogged  your  judgment;  high-living  has  dimmed 
your — " 

"You  have  it !"  laughed  the  land  baron. 

The  button  of  his  foil  touched  the  old  bravo's  breast ; 
the  steel  was  bent  like  a  bow. 

Spedella  forgot  his  English  and  swore  in  soft  and 
liquid  Italian.  "I  looked  around  to  see  how  those 
ribbon-venders  were  getting  on,"  he  said  after  this 
euphonious,  foreign  prelude.  "They  pay  me;  I  have 
to  keep  an  eye  on  them.  All  the  same,"  he  added, 
generously,  "there  isn't  another  man  in  New  Orleans 
could  have  stopped  that  stroke — except  myself !" 

"Will  I  do — for  to-morrow?"  asked  the  patroon, 
moodily. 

The  master  cocked  his  head  quizzically;  his  deep- 
set  eyes  were  soft  and  friendly. 

"The  devil's  with  him,  if  you  don't  put  your  spur  in 
him,  my  bantam!" 


CHAPTER    V 

THE    MEETING   BENEATH    THE   OAKS 

The  mist  was  lifting  from  the  earth  and  nature  lay 
wrapped  in  the  rosy  peace  of  daybreak  as  the  sun's 
shafts  of  gold  pierced  the  foliage,  illumining  the  his- 
toric ground  of  the  Oaks.  Like  shining  lances,  they 
gleamed  from  the  interstices  in  the  leafy  roof  to  the 
dew-be  jeweled  sward.  From  this  stronghold  of  glis- 
tening arms,  however,  the  surrounding  country 
stretched  tranquil  and  serene.  Upon  a  neighboring 
bank  sheep  were  browsing;  in  the  distance  cow-bells 
tinkled,  and  the  drowsy  cowherds  followed  the  cattle, 
faithful  as  the  shepherds  who  tended  their  flocks  on 
the  Judean  hills. 

Beneath  the  spreading  trees  were  assembled  a  group 
of  persons  variously  disposed.  A  little  dapper  man 
was  bending  over  a  case  of  instruments,  as  merry  a 
soul  as  ever  adjusted  a  ligature  or  sewed  a  wound. 
Be-ribboned  and  be-medaled,  the  Count  de  Propriac, 
acting  for  the  land  baron,  and  Barnes,  who  had  accom- 
panied the  soldier,  were  consulting  over  the  weapons, 
a  magnificent  pair  of  rapiers  with  costly  steel  guards, 
(268) 


BENEATH   THE   OAKS  269 

set  with  initials  and  a  coronet.  Member  of  an  ancient 
society  of  France  which  yet  sought  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  the  old  judicial  combat  and  the  more  mod- 
ejn  duel,  the  count  was  one  of  those  persons  who  think 
they  are  in  honor  bound  to  bear  a  challenge,  without 
questioning  the  cause,  or  asking  the  "color  of  a  rea- 
son." 

"A  superb  pair  of  weapons,  count!"  observed  the 
doctor,  rising. 

"Yes,"  said  the  person  addressed,  holding  the  blade 
so  that  the  sunlight  ran  along  the  steel;  "the  same 
Jacques  Legres  and  I  fought  with !" 

Here  the  count  smiled  in  a  melancholy  manner, 
which  left  no  doubt  regarding  the  fate  of  the  hapless 
Jacques.  But  after  a  moment  he  supplemented  this 
indubitable  assurance  by  adding  specifically : 

"The  left  artery  of  the  left  lung!" 

"Bless  my  soul!"  commented  the  medical  man. 
"But  what  is  this  head  in  gold  beneath  the  guard  ?" 

"Saint  Michael,  the  patron  saint  of  duelists!"  an- 
swered the  count. 

"Patron !"  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "Well,  all  I  have 
to  say  is,  it  is  a  saintless  business  for  Michael." 

The  count  laughed  and  turned  away  with  a  business- 
like air. 

"Are  you  ready,  gentlemen?" 

At  his  words  the  contestants  immediately  took  their 
positions.  The  land  baron,  lithe  and  supple,  present- 
ed a  picture  of  insolent  and  conscious  pride,  his  glance 


270  THE    STROLLERS 

lighted  by  disdain,  but  smoldering  with  fiercer  pas- 
sions as  he  examined  and  tested  his  blade. 

"Engage!"  exclaimed  the  count. 

With  ill-concealed  eagerness,  Mauville  began  a  vig- 
orous, although  guarded  attack,  as  if  asserting  his 
supremacy,  and  at  the  same  time  testing  his  man. 
The  buzzing  switch  of  the  steel  became  angrier;  the 
weapons  glinted  and  gleamed,  intertwining  silently 
and  separating  with  a  swish.  The  patroon's  features 
glowed ;  his  movements  became  quicker,  and,  execut- 
ing a  rapid  parry,  he  lunged  with  a  thrust  so  stealthy 
his  blade  was  beaten  down  only  as  it  touched  the 
soldier's  breast. 

Mauville  smiled,  but  Barnes  groaned  inwardly,  feel- 
ing his  courage  and  confidence  fast  oozing  from  him. 
Neither  he  nor  the  other  spectators  doubted  the  re- 
sult. Strength  would  count  but  little  against  such 
agility;  the  land  baron  was  an  incomparable  swords- 
man. 

"Gad!"  muttered  the  count  to  himself.  "It  prom- 
ises to  be  short  and  sweet." 

As  if  to  demonstrate  the  verity  of  this  assertion, 
Mauville  suddenly  followed  his  momentary  advant- 
age with  a  dangerous  lunge  from  below.  Involun- 
tarily Barnes  looked  away,  but  his  wandering  atten- 
tion was  immediately  recalled.  From  the  lips'  of  the 
land  baron  burst  an  exclamation  of  mingled  pain 
and  anger.  Saint-Prosper  had  not  only  parried  the 
thrust,  but  his  own  blade,  by  a  rapid  riposte,  had 
grazed  the  shoulder  of  his  foe. 


BENEATH   THE   OAKS  271 

Nor  was  the  manager's  surprise  greater  than  that  of 
the  count.  The  latter,  amazed  this  unusual  strategem 
should  have  failed  when  directed  by  a  wrist  as  trained 
a»d  an  eye  as  quick  as  Mauville's,  now  interposed. 

"Enough !"  he  exclaimed,  separating  the  contestants. 
"Demme!  it  was  superb.  Honor  has  been  satisfied." 

"It  is  nothing !"  cried  the  land  baron,  fiercely.  "His 
blade  hardly  touched  me."  In  his  exasperation  and 
disappointment  over  his  failure,  Mauville  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  his  wound.  "I  tell  you  it  is  nothing,"  he 
repeated. 

"What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Saint-Prosper?"  asked  the 
count. 

"I  am  satisfied,"  returned  the  young  man,  coldly. 

"But  I'm  not!"  reiterated  the  patroon,  restraining 
himself  with  difficulty.  "It  was  understood  we  should 
continue  until  both  were  willing  to  stop!" 

"No,"  interrupted  the  count,  suavely ;  "it  was  under- 
stood you  should  continue,  if  both  were  willing !" 

"And  you're  not  \"  exclaimed  the  land  baron,  wheel- 
ing on  Saint-Prosper.  "Did  you  leave  the  army  be- 
cause— " 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen!  let  us  observe  the  proprie- 
ties!" expostulated  the  count.  "Is  it  your  intention, 
sir" — to  Saint-Prosper — "not  to  grant  my  principal's 
request  ?" 

A  fierce  new  anger  gleamed  from  the  soldier's  eyes, 
completely  transforming  his  expression  and  bearing. 
His  glance  quickly  swept  from  the  count  to  Mauville 


272  THE    STROLLERS 

at  the  studied  insult  of  the  latter's  words ;  on  his  cheek 
burned  a  dark  red  spot. 

"Let  it  go  on !" 

The  count  stepped  nimbly  from  his  position  between 
the  two  men.  Again  the  swords  crossed.  The  count's 
glance  bent  itself  more  closely  on  the  figure  of  the 
soldier  ;  noting  now  how  superbly  poised  was  his  body  ; 
what  reserves  of  strength  were  suggested  by  the  white, 
muscular  arm!  His  wrist  moved  like  a  machine, 
lightly  brushing  aside  the  thrusts.  Had  it  been  but  ac- 
cident that  Mauville's  unlooked-for  expedient  had 
failed? 

"The  devil  \"  thought  the  count,  watching  the  sol- 
dier. "Here  is  a  fellow  who  has  deceived  us  all." 

But  the  land  baron's  zest  only  appeared  to  grow 
in  proportion  to  the  resistance  he  encountered;  the 
lust  for  fighting  increased  with  the  music  of  the  blades. 
For  some  moments  he  feinted  and  lunged,  seeking 
an  opening,  however  slight.  Again  he  appeared  bent 
upon  forcing  a  quick  conclusion,  for  suddenly  with  a 
rush  he  sought  to  break  over  Saint-Prosper's  guard, 
and  succeeded  in  wounding  the  other  slightly  in  the 
forehead.  Now  sure  of  his  man,  Mauville  sprang 
at  him  savagely. 

But  dashing  the  blood  from  his  eyes  with  his  free 
hand,  and  without  giving  way,  Saint-Prosper  met  the 
assault  with  a  wrist  of  iron,  and  the  land  baron  failed 
to  profit  by  what  had  seemed  a  certain  advantage. 
The  wound  had  the  effect  of  making  the  soldier  more 
cautious,  and  eye,  foot  and  hand  were  equally  true. 


BENEATH   THE   OAKS  273 

Mauville  was  breathing  heavily  from  his  exertions, 
but  the  appearance  of  both  men,  the  supple  movements 
of  the  one  contrasting  with  the  perfect  precision  of 
th^  other,  would  have  delighted  those  members  of 
the  count's  society,  who  regarded  these  matches  as 
leading  to  a  renaissance  of  chivalry. 

In  his  fury  that  his  chance  had  slipped  away, 
after  wounding,  and,  as  he  supposed,  blinding  his 
opponent,  Mauville,  throwing  prudence  to  the  winds, 
recklessly  attempted  to  repeat  his  rash  expedient, 
aad  this  time  the  steel  of  his  antagonist  gleamed  like 
quicksilver,  passing  beneath  his  arm  and  inflicting  a 
slight  flesh  wound.  Something  resembling  a  look  of 
apprehension  crossed  the  land  baron's  face.  "I  have 
underestimated  him!"  he  thought.  "The  next  stroke 
will  be  driven  nearer  home." 

He  felt  no  fear,  however ;  only  mute,  helpless  rage. 
In  the  soldier's  hand  the  dainty  weapon  was  a  thing 
of  marvelous  cunning;  his  vastly  superior  strength 
made  him  practically  tireless  in  this  play.  Not  only 
tireless ;  he  suddenly  accelerated  the  tempo  of  the  ex- 
ercise, but  behind  this  unexpected,  even  passionate, 
awakening,  the  spectators  felt  an  unvarying  accuracy, 
a  steely  coldness  of  purpose.  The  blades  clicked 
faster;  they  met  and  parted  more  viciously;  the  hard 
light  in  Saint-Prosper's  eyes  grew  brighter  as  he 
slowly  thrust  back  his  antagonist. 

Mauville  became  aware  his  own  vigor  was  slowly 
failing  him ;  instead  of  pressing  the  other  he  was  now 
obliged  to  defend  himself.  He  strove  to  throw  off 


274  THE    STROLLERS 

the  lethargy  irresistibly  stealing  over  him;  to  shake 
the  leaden  movements  from  his  limbs.  He  vainly  en- 
deavored to  penetrate  the  mist  falling  before  his  eyes 
and  to  overcome  the  dizziness  that  made  his  foeman 
seem  like  a  figure  in  a  dream.  Was  it  through  loss  of 
blood,  or  weariness,  or  both? — but  he  was  cognizant 
his  thrusts  had  lost  force,  his  plunges  vitality,  and 
that  even  an  element  of  chance  prevailed  in  his  parries. 
But  he  uttered  no  sound.  When  would  that  mist  be- 
come dark,  and  the  golden  day  fuse  into  inky  night? 

Before  the  mist  totally  eclipsed  his  sight  he  deter- 
mined to  make  one  more  supreme  effort,  and  again 
sprang  forward,  but  was  driven  back  with  ease.  The 
knowledge  that  he  was  continuing  a  futile  struggle 
smote  him  to  the  soul.  Gladly  would  he  have  wel- 
comed the  fatal  thrust,  if  first  he  could  have  sent  his 
blade  through  that  breast  which  so  far  had  been  im- 
pervious to  his  efforts.  Now  the  scene  went  round 
and  round;  the  golden  day  became  crimson,  scarlet; 
then  gray,  leaden,  somber.  Incautiously  he  bent  his 
arm  to  counter  an  imaginary  lunge,  and  his  antagonist 
thrust  out  his  rapier  like  a  thing  of  life,  transfixing 
Mauville's  sword  arm.  He  stood  his  ground  bravely 
for  a  moment,  playing  feebly  into  space,  expecting 
the  fatal  stroke!  When  would  it  come?  Then  the 
slate-colored  hues  were  swallowed  in  a  black  cloud. 
But  while  his  mind  passed  into  unconsciousness,  his 
breast  was  openly  presented  to  his  antagonist,  and 
even  the  count  shuddered. 

With  his  blade  at  guard,  Saint-Prosper  remained 


BENEATH    THE   OAKS  275 

motionless ;  the  land  baron  staggered  feebly  and  then 
sank  softly  to  the  earth.  That  fatal  look,  the  expres- 
sion of  a  duelist,  vanished  from  the  soldier's  face, 
and,  allowing  the  point  of  his  weapon  to  drop  to  the 
ground,  he  surveyed  his  prostrate  antagonist. 

"Done  like  a  gentleman!"  cried  the  count,  breath- 
ing more  freely.  "You  had  him  at  your  mercy,  sir" 
— to  Saint-Prosper — "and  spared  him." 

A  cold  glance  was  the  soldier's  only  response,  as 
without  a  word  he  turned  brusquely  away.  Mean- 
while the  doctor,  hastening  to  Mauville's  side,  opened 
his  shirt. 

"He  is  badly  hurt  ?"  asked  Barnes,  anxiously,  of  the 
surgeon. 

"No ;  only  fainted  from  loss  of  blood,"  replied  that 
gentleman,  cheerfully.  "He  will  be  around  again  in 
a  day  or  two." 

The  count  put  away  his  blades  as  carefully  as  a 
mother  would  deposit  her  babe  in  the  cradle. 

"Another  page  of  history,  my  chicks !"  he  observed. 
"Worthy  of  the  song  of  Pindar !" 

"Why  not  Straws  or  Phazma?"  queried  the  sur- 
geon, looking  up  from  his  task. 

"Would  you  have  the  press  take  up  the  affair? 
There  are  already  people  who  talk  of  abolishing  duel- 
ing. When  they  do  they  will  abolish  reputation  with 
it.  And  what's  a  gentleman  got  but  his  honor — 
demme!"  And  the  royal  emissary  carefully  brushed 
a  crimson  stain  from  the  bespattered  saint. 

By  this  time  the  land  baron  had  regained  conscious- 


276  THE   STROLLERS 

ness,  and,  his  wounds  temporarily  bandaged,  walked, 
with  the  assistance  of  the  count,  to  his  carriage.  As 
they  were  about  to  drive  away  the  sound  of  a  vehicle 
was  heard  drawing"  near,  and  soon  it  appeared  fol- 
lowed by  another  equipage.  Both  stopped  at  the 
confines  of  the  Oaks  and  the  friends  of  the  thick-set 
man — Susan's  admirer — and  the  young  lad,  on  whom 
she  had  smiled,  alighted. 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  who  had  accompanied 
the  count  and  his  companion  to  the  carriage.  "Num- 
ber two!" 

"Yes,"  laughed  the  count,  as  he  leaned  back  against 
the  soft  cushions,  "it  promises  to  be  a  busy  day  at  the 
Oaks  !  Really" — as  the  equipage  rolled  on — "New 
Orleans  is  fast  becoming  a  civilized  center — demme!" 


CHAPTER    VI 

A  BLOT   IN   THE   'SCUTCHEON 

The  land  baron's  injuries  did  not  long  keep  him 
indoors,  for  it  was  his  pride  rather  than  his  body  that 
had  received  deep  and  bitter  wounds.  He  chafed  and 
fumed  when  he  thought  how,  in  all  likelihood,  the  de- 
tails of  his  defeat  could  not  be  suppressed  in  the  clubs 
and  cafes.  This  anticipated  publicity  he  took  in  ill 
part,  fanning  his  mental  disorder  with  brandy,  mel- 
low and  insidious  with  age.  But  beneath  the  dregs 
of  indulgence  lay  an  image  which  preyed  upon  his 
mind  more  than  his  defeat  beneath  the  Oaks:  a 
figure,  on  the  crude  stage  of  a  country  tavern ;  in  the 
manor  window,  with  an  aureole  around  her  from  the 
sinking  sun ;  in  the  grand  stand  at  the  races,  the  gay 
dandies  singling  her  out  in  all  that  seraglio  of  beauty. 

"I  played  him  too  freely,"  he  groaned  to  the  Count 
de  Propriac,  as  the  latter  sat  contemplatively  nursing 
the  ivory  handle  of  his  cane  and  offering  the  land 
baron  such  poor  solace  as  his  company  afforded.  "I 
misjudged  the  attack,  besides  exposing  myself  too 
much.  If  I  could  only  meet  him  again  |" 
(277) 


278  THE   STROLLERS 

The  visitor  reflectively  took  the  handle  of  the  stick 
from  his  lips,  thrust  out  his  legs  and  yawned.  The 
count  was  sleepy,  having  drowned  dull  care  the  night 
before,  and  had  little  sympathy  with  such  spirited  talk 
so  early  in  the  day.  His  lack-luster  gaze  wandered 
to  the  pictures  on  the  wall,  the  duel  between  two  court 
ladies  for  the  possession  of  the  Due  de  Richelieu  and  an 
old  print  of  the  deadly  public  contest  of  Francois  de 
Vivonne  and  Guy  de  Jarnac  and  then  strayed  languidly 
to  the  other  paraphernalia  of  a  high-spirited  bachelor's 
rooms — foils,  dueling  pistols  and  masks — trappings 
that  but  served  to  recall  to  the  land  baron  his  defeat. 

"It  would  be  like  running  against  a  stone  wall," 
said  the  count,  finally;  "demme  if  it  wouldn't!  He 
could  have  killed  you !" 

"Why  didn't  he  do  it,  then?"  demanded  the  land 
baron,  fiercely. 

The  count  shrugged  his  shoulders,  drank  his  brandy, 
and  handed  the  bottle  to  his  companion,  who  helped 
himself,  as  though  not  averse  to  that  sort  of  medicine 
for  his  physical  and  mental  ailments. 

"What's  the  news  ?"  he  asked  abruptly,  sinking  back 
on  his  pillow. 

"The  levees  are  flooded." 

"Hanged  if  I  care  if  it's  another  deluge!"  said 
Mauville.  "I  mean  news  of  the  town,  not  news  of 
the  river." 

"There's  a  new  beauty  come  to  town — a  brunette; 
all  the  bloods  are  talking  about  her.  Where  did  she 


BLOT   IN   THE    'SCUTCHEON  279 

come  from?  Who  is  she?  These  are  some  of  the 
questions  asked.  But  she's  a  Peri,  at  any  rate !  shy, 
hard  to  get  acquainted  with — at  first!  An  actress — 
Miss  Carew !" 

The  glass  trembled  in  the  patroon's  hand.  "Do 
you  know  her?"  he  asked  unsteadily. 

Smiling,  the  visitor  returned  the  cane  to  his  lips  and 
gazed  into  vacancy,  as  though  communing  with  agree- 
able thoughts. 

"I  have  met  her,"  he  said  finally.  "Yes ;  I  may  say 
I  have  met  her.  Ged!  Next  to  a  duel  with  rapiers 
is  one  with  eyes.  They  thrust  at  you ;  you  parry ; 
they  return,  and,  demme!  you're  stabbed!  But  don't 
ask  me  any  more — discretion — you  understand — be- 
tween men  of  the  world — demme!" — and  the  count 
relapsed  into  a  vacuous  dream. 

"What  a  precious  liar  he  is!"  commented  the  land 
baron  to  himself.  But  his  mind  soon  reverted  to  the 
duel  once  more.  "If  I  had  only  followed  Spedella's 
advice  and  studied  his  favorite  parades!"  he  mut- 
tered, regretfully. 

"It  would  have  been  the  same,"  retorted  the  count, 
brutally.  "When  you  lost  your  temper,  you  lost  your 
cause.  Your  work  was  brilliant;  but  he  is  one  of 
the  best  swordsmen  I  ever  saw.  Who  is  he,  anyway  ?" 

"All  I  know  is,  he  served  in  Algiers,"  said  Mauville, 
moodily. 

"A  demmed  adventurer,  probably!"  exclaimed  the 
other. 


280  THE   STROLLERS 

"I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  know  his  record,"  remarked 
the  patroon,  contemplatively.  "You  should  be  pretty 
well  acquainted  with  the  personnel  of  the  army?" 

"It  includes  everybody  nowadays,"  replied  the  dip- 
lomat. "I  have  a  large  acquaintance,  but  I  am  not  a 
directory.  A  person  who  knows  everybody  usually 
knows  nobody — worth  knowing!  But  it  seems  to 
me  I  did  know  of  a  Saint-Prosper  at  the  military  col- 
lege at  Saumur;  or  was  it  at  the  Ecole  d 'application 
d'etat-majorf  Demmed.  scapegrace,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken; sent  to  Algiers;  must  be  the  same.  A  hell- 
rake  hole! — full  of  German  and  French  outcasts! 
Knaves,  adventureres,  ready  for  plunder  and  loot!" 

Here  the  count,  after  this  outburst,  closed  his  eyes 
and  seemed  almost  on  the  point  of  dropping  off,  but 
suddenly  straightened  himself. 

"Let's  get  the  cards,  or  the  dice,  Mauville,"  he  said, 
"or  I'll  fall  into  a  doze.  Such  a  demmed  sleepy  cli- 
mate !" 

Soon  the  count  was  shuffling  and  the  land  baron  and 
he  were  playing  bezique,  but  in  spite  of  the  latter 's 
drowsiness,  he  won  steadily  from  his  inattentive  com- 
panion, and,  although  the  noble  visitor  had  some  dif- 
ficulty in  keeping  his  eyes  open,  what  there  was  of  his 
glance  was  vigilantly  concentrated  on  his  little  pile 
of  the  coin  of  the  realm.  His  watchfulness  did  not 
relax  nor  his  success  desert  him,  until  Mauville  finally 
threw  down  the  cards  in  disgust,  weary  alike  of  such 
poor  luck  and  the  half-nodding  automaton  confront- 
ing him;  whereupon  the  count  thrust  every  piece  of 


BLOT   IN    THE    'SCUTCHEON  281 

gold  carefully  away  in  his  pocket,  absently  reached  for 
his  hat,  drawled  a  perfunctory  farewell  and  departed 
in  a  brown  study. 

The  count's  company,  of  which  he  had  enjoyed  a 
good  deal  during  the  past  forty-eight  hours,  did  not 
improve  Mauville's  temper,  and  he  bore  his  own  re- 
flections so  grudgingly  that  inaction  became  intolera- 
ble. Besides,  certain  words  of  his  caller  concerning 
Saint-Prosper  had  stimulated  his  curiosity,  and,  in 
casting  about  for  a  way  to  confirm  his  suspicions,  he 
had  suddenly  determined  in  what  wise  to  proceed.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  next  day  he  left  his  rooms,  his  first 
visit  being  to  a  spacious,  substantial  residence  of  stone 
and  lime,  with  green  veranda  palings  and  windows 
that  opened  as  doors,  with  a  profusion  of  gauzy  cur- 
tains hanging  behind  them.  This  house,  the  present 
home  of  the  Marquis  de  Ligne,  stood  in  the  French 
quarter,  contrasting  architecturally  with  the  newer 
brick  buildings  erected  for  the  American  population. 
The  land  baron  was  ushered  into  a  large  reception 
room,  sending  his  card  to  the  marquis  by  the  neat- 
appearing  colored  maid  who  answered  the  door. 

If  surroundings  indicate  the  man,  the  apartments  in 
which  the  visitor  stood  spoke  eloquently  of  the  mar- 
quis' taste.  Eschewing  the  stiff,  affected  classical- 
ism  of  the  Empire  style,  the  furniture  was  the  best 
work  of  Andre  Boule  and  Riesener;  tables,  with  fine 
marquetry  of  the  last  century,  made  of  tulip  wood  and 
mahogany;  mirrors  from  Tourlaville;  couches 
with  tapestry  woven  in  fanciful  designs  after  Frago- 


282  THE   STROLLERS 

nard,  in  the  looms  of  Beauvais — couches  that  were 
made  for  conversation,  not  repose ;  cabinets  exemplify- 
ing agreeable  disposition  of  lines  and  masses  in  the 
inlaid  adornment,  containing  tiny  drawers  that  fitted 
with  old-time  exactness,  and,  without  jamming, 
opened  and  shut  at  the  touch.  The  marquis'  charac- 
ter was  stamped  by  these  details ;  it  was  old,  not  new 
France,  to  which  he  belonged. 

Soon  the  marquis'  servant,  a  stolid,  sober  man,  of 
virtuous  deportment,  came  down  stairs  to  inform  the 
land  baron  his  master  had  suffered  a  relapse  and  was 
unable  to  see  any  one. 

"Last  night  his  temperature  was  very  high,"  said  the 
valet.  "My  master  is  very  ill ;  more  so  than  I  have 
known  him  to  be  in  twenty  years." 

"You  have  served  the  marquis  so  long?"  said  the 
visitor,  pausing  as  he  was  leaving  the  room.  "Do 
you  remember  the  Saint-Prosper  family?" 

"Well,  Monsieur.  General  Saint-Prosper  and  my 
master  were  distant  kinsmen  and  had  adjoining  lands." 

"Surely  the  marquis  did  not  pass  his  time  in  the 
country?"  observed  Mauville. 

"He  preferred  it  to  Paris — when  my  lady  was 
there!"  added  Francois,  softly. 

In  spite  of  his  ill-humor,  the  shadow  of  a  smile 
gleamed  in  the  land  baron's  gaze,  and,  encouraged  by 
that  questioning  look,  the  man  continued :  "The  mar- 
quis and  General  Saint-Prosper  were  always  together. 
My  lady  had  her  own  friends." 


BLOT    IN   THE    'SCUTCHEON  283 

"So  I've  heard,"  commented  the  listener. 

Frangois'  discreet  eyes  were  downcast.  Why  did 
the  visitor  wish  to  learn  about  the  Saint-Prosper  fam- 
ily? Why,  instead  of  going,  did  he  linger  and  eye 
the  man  half-dubiously  ?  Frangois  had  sold  so  many 
of  his  master's  secrets  he  scented  his  opportunities 
with  a  sixth  sense. 

"The  marquis  and  General  Saint-Prosper  were 
warm  friends  ?"  asked  the  land  baron  at  length. 

"Yes,  Monsieur ;  the  death  of  the  latter  was  a  severe 
shock  to  the  Marquis  de  Ligne,  but,  mon  Dieu!" — 
lifting  his  eyes — "it  was  as  well  he  did  not  live  to 
witness  the  disgrace  of  his  son." 

"His  son's  disgrace,"  repeated  the  land  baron, 
eagerly.  "Oh,  you  mean  running  in  debt — gaming — 
some  such  fashionable  virtue?" 

"If  betraying  his  country  is  a  fashionable  virtue," 
replied  the  valet.  "He  is  a  traitor." 

Incredulity  overspread  the  land  baron's  features; 
then,  coincident  with  the  assertion,  came  remembrance 
of  his  conversation  with  the  marquis. 

"He  certainly  called  him  that,"  ruminated  the  vis- 
itor. Not  only  the  words,  but  the  expression  of  the 
old  nobleman's  face  recurred  to  him.  What  did  it 
mean  unless  it  confirmed  the  deliberate  charge  of  the 
valet?  The  land  baron  forgot  his  disappointment 
over  his  inability  to  see  the  marquis,  and  began  to  look 
with  more  favor  on  the  man. 

"He  surrendered  a  French  stronghold,"  continued 


284  THE   STROLLERS 

the  servant,  softly.  "Not  through  fear;  oh,  no;  but 
for  ambition,  power,  under  Abd-el-Kader,  the  Moor- 
ish leader." 

"How  do  you  know  this  ?"  said  the  patroon,  sharply. 

"My  master  has  the  report  of  the  military  board  of 
inquiry,"  replied  the  man,  steadily. 

"Why  has  the  matter  attracted  no  public  attention, 
if  a  board  of  inquiry  was  appointed  ?" 

"The  board  was  a  secret  one,  and  the  report  was 
suppressed.  Few  have  seen  it,  except  the  late  King 
of  France  and  my  master." 

"And  yourself,  Francois?"  said  the  patroon,  his 
manner  changing. 

"Oh,  Monsieur!"    Deprecatorily. 

"Since  it  has  been  inspected  by  such  good  company, 
I  confess  curiosity  to  look  at  it  myself.  But  your 
master  is  ill ;  I  can  not  speak  with  him ;  perhaps  you — " 

"I,  Monsieur!"     Indignantly. 

"For  five  hundred  francs,  Francois  ?" 

Like  oil  upon  the  troubled  waters,  this  assurance 
wrought  a  swift  change  in  the  valet's  manner. 

"To  oblige  Monsieur!"  he  answered,  softly,  but  his 
eyes  gleamed  like  a  lynx's.  His  stateliness  was  a 
sham;  his  perfidy  and  hypocrisy  surprised  even  the 
land  baron. 

"You  have  no  compunctions  about  selling  a  reputa- 
tion, Francois?" 

"Reputation  is  that !"  said  the  man,  contemptuously 
snapping  his  fingers,  emboldened  by  his  compact  with 
the  caller.  "Francs  and  sous  are  everything." 


BLOT   IN   THE   '  S  CUT  CH  EO  N  285 

"Lord,  how  servants  imbibe  the  ideas  of  their  bet- 
ters!"  quoth  the  patroon,  as  he  left  the  house  and 
strode  down  the  graveled  walk,  decapitating  the  be- 
gonias with  his  cane. 

Furtively  the  valet  watched  his  departing  figure. 
"Why  does  he  want  it  ?"  he  .thought. 

Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "What  do  I 
care!" 

"Francois !"  piped  a  shrill  and  querulous  treble  from 
above,  dispelling  the  servant's  conjectures. 

"Coming,  my  lord !"  And  the  valet  slowly  mounted 
the  broad  stairway  amid  a  fusillade  of  epithets  from 
the  sick  chamber.  An  hour  before  the  marquis  had 
ordered  him  out  of  his  sight  as  vehemently  as  now  he 
summoned  him,  all  of  which  Francois  endured  with 
infinite  patience  and  becoming  humility. 

Passing  into  the  Rue  Royale,  the  favorite  prome- 
nade of  the  Creole-French,  the  land  baron  went  on 
through  various  thoroughfares  with  French-English 
nomenclature  into  St.  Charles  Street,  reaching  his 
apartments,  which  adjoined  a  well-known  club.  He 
was  glad  to  stretch  himself  once  more  on  his  couch, 
feeling  fatigued  from  his  efforts,  and  having  rather 
overtaxed  his  strength. 

But  if  his  body  was  now  inert,  his  mind  was  active. 
His  thoughts  dwelt  upon  the  soldier's  reticence,  his 
disinclination  to  make  acquaintances,  and  the  coldness 
with  which  he  had  received  his,  Mauville's,  advances 
in  the  Shadengo  Valley.  Why,  asked  Mauville,  lying 
there  and  putting  the  pieces  of  the  tale  together,  did 


286  THE   STROLLERS 

not  Saint-Prosper  remain  with  his  new-found  friends, 
the  enemies  of  his  country?  Because,  came  the  an- 
swer, Abd-el-Kader,  the  patriot  of  Algerian  independ- 
ence, had  been  captured  and  the  subjection  of  the 
country  had  followed.  Since  Algeria  had  become  a 
French  colony,  where  could  Saint-Prosper  have  found 
a  safer  asylum  than  in  America  ?  Where  more  secure 
from  "that  chosen  curse"  for  the  man  who  owes  his 
weal  to  his  country's  woe? 

In  his  impatience  to  possess  the  promised  proof,  the 
day  passed  all  too  slowly.  He  even  hoped  the  count 
would  call,  although  that  worthy  brought  with  him  all 
the  "flattering  devils,  sweet  poison  and  deadly  sins"  of 
inebriation.  But  the  count,  like  a  poor  friend,  was 
absent  when  wanted,  and  it  was  a  distinct  relief  to 
the  land  baron  when  Francois  appeared  at  his  apart- 
ments in  the  evening  with  a  buff-colored  envelope, 
which  he  handed  to  him. 

"The  suppressed  report  ?"  asked  the  latter,  weighing 
it  in  his  hand. 

"No,  Monsieur;  I  could  not  find  that.  My  master 
must  have  destroyed  it." 

The  land  baron  made  a  gesture  of  disappointment 
and  irritation. 

"But  this,"  Francois  hastened  to  add,  "is  a  letter 
from  the  Due  d'Aumale,  governor  of  Algeria,  to  the 
Marquis  de  Ligne,  describing  the  affair.  Monsieur 
will  find  it  equally  as  satisfactory,  I  am  sure." 

"How  did  you  get  it?"  said  the  patroon,  thought- 
fully. 


BLOT   IN    THE    '  S  CUT  C  H  EO  N  287 

"My  master  left  the  keys  on  the  dresser." 

"And  if  he  misses  this  letter — " 

"Oh,  Monsieur,  I  grieve  my  master  is  so  ill  he  could 
not  miss  anything  but  his  ailments !  Those  he  would 
willingly  dispense  with.  My  poor  master!" 

"There!  Take  your  long,  hypocritical  face  out  of 
my  sight!"  said  Mauville,  curtly,  at  the  same  time 
handing  him  the  promised  reward,  which  Francois 
calmly  accepted.  A  moment  later,  however,  he  drew 
himself  up. 

"Monsieur  has  not  paid  for  the  right  to  libel  my 
character,"  he  said. 

"Your  character!" 

"My  character,  Monsieur!"  the  valet  replied  firmly, 
and  bowed  in  the  stateliest  fashion  of  the  old  school 
as  he  backed  out  of  the  room  with  grand  obsequious- 
ness. Deliberately,  heavily  and  solidly,  resounded 
the  echoing  footsteps  of  Frangois  upon  the  stairway, 
like  the  going  of  some  substantial  personage  of  unim- 
peachable rectitude. 

As  the  front  door  closed  sharply  the  land  baron 
threw  the  envelope  on  the  table  and  quietly  surveyed 
it,  the  remnants  of  his  pride  rising  in  revolt. 

"Have  I  then  sunk  so  low  as  to  read  private  commu- 
nications or  pry  into  family  secrets?  Is  it  a  family 
secret,  though?  Should  it  not  become  common  prop- 
erty? Why  have  they  protected  him?  Did  the  mar- 
quis wish  to  spare  the  son  of  an  old  friend?  Be- 
sides"— his  glance  again  seeking  the  envelope — "it  is 
my  privilege  to  learn  whether  I  have  fought  with  a 


288  THE   STROLLERS 

gentleman  or  a  renegade."  But  even  as  he  medi- 
tated, he  felt  the  sophistry  of  this  last  argument,  while 
through  his  brain  ran  the  undercurrent:  "He  has 
wooed  her — won  her,  perhaps !"  Passion,  rather  than 
injured  hauteur,  stirred  him.  At  the  same  time  a 
great  indignation  filled  his  breast;  how  Saint-Prosper 
had  tricked  her  and  turned  her  from  himself! 

And  moving  from  the  mantel  upon  which  he  was 
leaning,  Mauville  strode  to  the  table  and  untied  the 
envelope. 


CHAPTER    VII 

A    CYNICAL    BARD 

A  dusty  window  looking  out  upon  a  dusty  thorough- 
fare ;  a  dusty  room,  lighted  by  the  dusty  window,  and 
revealing  a  dusty  chair,  a  dusty  carpet  and — proba- 
bly— a  dusty  bed !  Over  the  foot  and  the  head  of  the 
bed  the  lodger's  wardrobe  lay  carelessly  thrown.  He 
had  but  to  reach  up,  and  lo !  his  shirt  was  at  hand ;  to 
reach  down,  and  there  were  collar  and  necktie !  Presto, 
he  was  dressed,  without  getting  out  of  bed;  running 
no  risk  from  cold  floors  for  cold  feet,  lurking  tacks  or 
stray  needles  and  pins !  On  every  side  appeared  evi- 
dence of  confusion,  or  a  bachelor's  idea  of  order. 

Fastened  to  the  head-board  of  the  bed  was  a  box, 
wherein  were  stored  various  and  divers  articles  and 
things.  With  as  little  inconvenience  as  might  be  im- 
agined the  lodger  could  plunge  his  hand  into  his 
cupboard  and  pull  out  a  pipe,  a  box  of  matches,  a 
bottle  of  ink,  a  bottle  of  something  else,  paper  and 
pins,  and,  last  but  not  least,  his  beloved  tin  whistle  of 
three  holes,  variously  dignified  a  fretiau,  a  frestele, 
or  a  galoubet,  upon  which  he  played  ravishing  tunes 
(289) 


290  THE    STROLLERS 

Oh,  a  wonderful  box  was  Straws'  little  bedstead 
cupboard !  As  Phazma  said  of  it,  it  contained  every- 
thing it  should  not,  and  nothing  it  should  contain. 
But  that  was  why  it  was  a  poet's  box.  If  it  had  held 
a  Harpagon's  Interest  Computer,  instead  of  a  well- 
thumbed  Virgil,  or  Oldcodger's  Commercial  Statistics 
for  184 — ,  instead  of  an  antique,  leather-covered  Mon- 
taigne, Straws  would  have  had  no  use  for  the  cup- 
board. It  was  at  once  his  library — a  scanty  one,  for 
the  poet  held  tenaciously  to  but  a  few  books — his  side- 
board, his  secretaire,  his  music  cabinet — giving  lodg- 
ment in  this  last  capacity  to  a  single  work,  "The  Com- 
plete and  Classical  Preceptor  for  Galoubet,  Contain- 
ing Tunes,  Polkas  and  Military  Pieces." 

Suspended  from  the  ceiling  hung  a  wooden  cage, 
confining  a  mocking  bird  that  had  become  acclimated 
to  the  death-dealing  atmosphere  of  tobacco  smoke, 
alcoholic  fumes  and  poetry.  All  these  the  songster 
had  endured  and  survived,  nay,  thriven  upon,  lifting 
up  its  voice  in  happy  cadence  and  blithely  hopping 
about  its  prison,  the  door  of  which  Straws  sometimes 
opened,  permitting  the  feathered  captive  the  dubious 
freedom  of  the  room.  Pasted  on  the  foot-board  of 
the  bed  was  an  old  engraving  of  a  wandering  musician 
mountebank,  playing  a  galoubet  as  an  accompaniment 
to  a  dancing  dog  and  a  cock  on  stilts,  a  never-wearying 
picture  for  Straws,  with  his  migratory,  vagabond  pro- 
clivities. 

A  bracket  on  the  wall  looked  as  though  it  might 
have  been  intended  for  a  piece  of  statuary,  or  a  bit  of 


A   CYNICAL   BARD  291 

porcelain  or  china  decoration,  but  had  really  been 
set  there  for  his  ink-pot,  when  he  was  mindful  to  work 
in  bed,  although  how  the  Muse  could  be  induced  to 
soft  foot  in  that  old  nookery  of  a  room  could  only  be 
explained  through  the  whims  and  crotchets  of  that 
odd  young  person's  character. 

Yet  come  she  would  and  did,  although  she  got  dust 
on  her  flowing  skirts  when  she  swept  across  the 
threshold;  dust  on  her  snow-white  gown — if  the 
writers  are  to  be  believed  in  regard  to  its  hue ! — when 
she  sat  down  in  the  only  chair,  and  dust  in  her  eyes 
when  she  flirted  her  fan.  Fortunate  was  it  for 
Straws  that  the  Muse  is  a  wayward-,  freakish  gipsy; 
a  straggler  in  attics ;  a  vagrant  of  the  streets ;  fortu- 
nately for  him  she  is  not  at  all  the  fine  lady  she  has 
been  depicted !  Doubtless  she  has  her  own  reasons 
for  her  vagaries ;  perhaps  because  it  is  so  easy  to  soar 
from  the  hovel  to  fairy-land,  but  to  soar  from  a  pal- 
ace— that  is  obviously  impossible ;  it  is  a  height  in  it- 
self! So  this  itinerant  maiden  ever  yawns  amid 
scenes  of  splendor,  and,  from  time  immemorial,  has 
sighed  for  lofts,  garrets,  and  such  humble  places  as 
Straws'  earthly  abode. 

At  the  present  time,  however,  Straws  was  alone. 
This  eccentric  but  lovely  young  lady  had  not  deigned 
to  visit  him  that  day.  Once,  indeed,  she  had  just 
looked  in,  but  whisked  back  again  into  the  hall,  slam- 
ming the  door  after  her,  and  the  pen,  momentarily 
grasped,  had  fallen  from  Straws'  hand.  Instead  of 
reaching  for  the  ink-bottle  he  reached  in  the  cupboard 


292  THE    STROLLERS 

for  the  other  bottle.  Again  she  came  near  entering 
through  the  window — having  many  unconventional 
ways  of  coming  into  a  room! — but  after  looking  in 
for  a  moment,  changed  her  mind  after  her  fashion  and 
floated  away  into  thin  space  like  the  giddy,  volatile 
mistress  that  she  was.  After  that  she  appeared  no 
more — probably  making  a  friendly  call  on  some  one 
else ! — and  Straws  resigned  himself  to  her  heartless 
perfidy,  having  become  accustomed  to  her  frivolous, 
fantastic  moods. 

Indeed,  what  else  could  he  have  done ;  what  can  any 
man  do  when  his  lady-love  deserts  him,  save  to  make 
the  best  of  it?  But  he  found  his  consolation  in  a 
pipe ;  not  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  nor  yet  a  pipe  of  old  ma- 
deira, which,  figuratively,  most  disappointed  lovers 
seek;  but  a  pipe  of  melody,  a  pipe  of  flowing  tunes 
and  stirring  marches;  a  pipe  of  three  holes,  vulgarly 
termed  by  those  who  know  not  its  high  classic  origin 
from  the  Grecian  reeds  and  its  relation  to  the  Pandian 
pipes,  a  tin  whistle !  Thus  was  Straws  classic  in  his 
taste,  affecting  the  instrument  wherein  Acis  sighed 
his  soul  and  breath  away  for  fair  Galatea! 

It  had  been  a  lazy,  purposeless  day.  He  had 
awakened  at  noon;  had  coffee  and  rolls  in  bed;  had 
dressed,  got  up,  looked  out,  lain  down  again,  read, 
and  vainly  essayed  original  composition.  Now,  lying 
on  his  back,  with  the  Complete  and  Classic  Preceptor 
before  him,  he  soothed  himself  with  such  music  "as 
washes  the  every-day  dust  from  the  soul."  For  a 
pipe  of  three  holes,  his  instrument  had  a  remarkable 


A   CYNICAL   BARD  293 

i 

compass;  melody  followed  melody— "The  Harp  that 
Once  through  Tara's  Hall,"  "She  is  Far  from  the 
Land,"  "In  Death  I  shall  Calm  Recline,"  and  other 
popular  pieces.  When  Straws  missed  a  note  he  went 
back  to  find  it ;  when  he  erred  in  a  phrase,  he  patiently 
repeated  it.  The  cadence  in  the  last  mournful  selec- 
tion, "Bid  her  not  shed  a  tear  of  sorrow,"  was,  on 
his  first  attempt,  fraught  with  exceeding  discord,  and 
he  was  preparing  once  more  to  assault  the  citadel  of 
grief,  entrenched  with  bristling  high  notes,  when  an 
abrupt  knocking  at  the  door,  followed  by  the  appear- 
ance of  a  face  marred  by  wrath  and  adorned  with  an 
enormous  pair  of  whiskers,  interrupted  his  attack. 

"Sair,"  said  this  person,  excitedly,  with  no  more 
than  his  head  in  the  room,  like  a  Punch  and  Judy 
figure  peering  from  behind  a  curtain,  "you  are  ze  one 
gran'  nuisance!  Eet  is  zat — what  you  call  eet? — 
whistle!  I  am  crazee — crazee!" 

"Yes;  you  look  it!"  replied  Straws,  sympathetic- 
ally. "Perhaps,  if  you  had  a  keep — " 

"I  am  not  crazee !"  vociferated  the  man. 

"No?  Perhaps  I  could  tell  better,  if  I  could  see 
more  of  you.  Judging  from  the  sample,  I  confess  to 

curiosity  for  a  full-length  view.     If  you  will  step  in 
» 

"I  will  not  step  in!  I  will  step  out!  I  will  leave 
zis  house!  I  will  leave — forever!" 

And  the  head  vanished  as  suddenly  as  it  had  ap- 
peared, to  be  followed  by  hasty  footsteps  down  the 
stairway. 


294  THE    STROLLERS 

"Now  I  can  understand  why  Orpheus  was  torn  to 
pieces,"  ruminated  Straws,  mournfully  surveying  the 
offending  pipe.  "He  played  on  the  lyre!  Return  to 
thy  cupboard,  O  reed  divine!" — putting  the  whistle 
back  in  the  box — "a  vile  world,  as  Falstaff  says! 
Heigho!" — yawning — "life  is  an  empty  void — which 
reminds  me  I  have  a  most  poetic  appetite.  What  shall 
I  do" — and  Straws  sat  up  relinquishing  his  lounging 
attitude — "go  out,  or  have  pot-luck  in  the  room? 
Tortier's  bouillabaisse  would  about  tickle  the  jaded 
palate.  A  most  poetic  dish,  that  bouillabaisse!  Con- 
taining all  the  fish  that  swim  in  the  sea  and  all  the 
herbs  that  grow  on  the  land !  Thus  speaks  gluttony ! 
Get  thee  behind  me,  odoriferous  temptation  of  garlic! 
succulent  combination  of  broth  and  stew !" 

So  saying,  Straws  sprang  from  his  bed,  lighted  a 
charcoal  fire  in  his  tiny  grate;  rummaged  a  bureau 
drawer  and  drew  forth  an  end  of  bacon,  a  potato  or 
two,  a  few  apples,  an  onion  and  the  minor  part  of  a 
loaf  of  bread,  all  of  which,  except  the  bread,  he  sliced 
and  thrust  indiscriminately  into  the  frying-pan  and 
placed  over  the  blue  flame.  Next  from  behind  the 
mirror  he  produced  a  diminutive  coffee  pot  into  which 
he  measured,  with  extreme  care,  just  so  much  of  the 
ground  berry,  being  rather  over-nice  about  his  demi- 
tasse.  Having  progressed  thus  far  in  his  preparation 
for  pot,  or  frying-pan  luck — and  indeed  it  seemed  a 
matter  of  luck,  or  good  fortune,  how  that  mixture 
would  turn  out — he  rapped  on  the  floor  with  the  heel 
of  his  boot,  like  the  prince  in  the  fairy  tale,  summoning 


ACYNICALBARD  295 

his  attendant  good  genii,  and  in  a  few  moments  a  light 
tapping  on  the  door  announced  the  coming  of  a  servi- 
tor. 

Not  a  mighty  wraith  nor  spook  of  Arabian  fancy, 
but  a  very  small  girl,  or  child,  with  very  black  hair, 
very  white  skin  and  very  dark,  beautiful  eyes.  A 
daughter  of  mixed  ancestry,  yet  with  her  dainty  hands 
and  little  feet,  she  seemed  descended  from  sprites  or 
sylphs. 

"Monsieur  called,"  she  said  in  her  pretty  dialect. 

"Yes,  my  dear.  Go  to  Monsieur  Tortier's,  Celes- 
tina,  and  tell  him  to  give  you  a  bottle  of  the  kind 
Monsieur  Straws  always  takes." 

"At  once,  Monsieur,"  she  answered,  very  gravely, 
very  seriously.  And  Celestina  vanished  like  a  butter- 
fly that  flutters  quickly  away.1 

"Now  this  won't  be  bad  after  all,"  thought  Straws, 
sniffing  at  the  frying-pan  which  had  begun  to  sput- 
ter bravely  over  the  coals,  while  the  coffee  pot  gave 
forth  a  fragrant  steam.  "A  good  bottle  of  wine  will 
transform  a  snack  into  a  collation ;  turn  pot-luck  into 
a  feast !" 

As  thus  he  meditated  the  first  of  night's  outriders, 
its  fast-coming  shadows,  stole  through  the  window ; 
following  these  swift  van-couriers,  night's  chariot 
came  galloping  across  the  heavens ;  in  the  sky  several 
little  clouds  melted  like  Cleopatra's  pearls.  Musing 
before  his  fire  the  poet  sat,  not  dreaming  thoughts  no 
mortal  ever  dreamed  before,  but  turning  the  bacon 
and  apples  and  stirring  in  a  few  herbs,  for  no  other 


296  THE    STROLLERS 

particular  reason  than  that  he  had  them  and  thought  he 
might  as  well  use  them. 

"Celestina  is  taking  longer  than  usual,"  he  mused. 
"Perhaps,  though,  Monsieur  Tortier  intends  to  sur- 
prise me  with  an  unusually  fine  bottle.  Yes;  that  is 
undoubtedly  the  reason  for  the  delay.  He  is  hunting 
about  in  the  cellar  for  something  a  little  out  of  the 
ordinary.  But  here  is  Celestina  now!"  as  the  child 
reappeared,  with  footsteps  so  noiseless  the  poet  saw 
before  he  heard  her.  "Where  is  the  bottle,  my  little 
Ariel?  It  must  be  an  extra  fine  vintage.  Bless  old 
Tortier's  noble  heart!" 

"There  isn't  any  bottle,"  said  the  child.  "Monsieur 
said  that  your  account — " 

"The  miserable  old  hunks !  His  heart's  no  bigger 
than  a  pin-head  \" 

"Please,  I'm  so  sorry!"  spoke  up  Celestina,  a  sus- 
picious moisture  in  her  eyes. 

"I  know  it,  my  dear,"  returned  Straws.  "Your 
heart  is  as  big  as  his  whole  body.  One  of  your  tears 
is  more  precious  than  his  most  priceless  nectar." 

"I  beg-ged  him — that's  why  I — I  stayed  so — long!" 
half-sobbed  Celestina. 

"There !  there !"  said  Straws,  wiping  her  eyes.  "Of 
course  it's  very  tragic,  but  there's  no  use  crying  over 
spilled  milk.  Dear  me,  dear  me;  what  can  we  do? 
It's  terrible,  but  you  know  the  proverb :  'Every  cloud 
has  a  silver  lining/  Perhaps  this  one  has.  I  wish 
it  Had ;  or  a  golden  one !  Think  of  a  cloud  of  gold, 


A   CYNICAL   BARD  297 

Celestina!     Wouldn't  we  be  rich?    What  would  you 
do  with  it?" 

"I'd  go  to — Monsieur  Tortier's  and — and  get  the 
bottle,"  said  the  child  in  an  agony  of  distress. 
''He  lifted  her  on  his  knee,  soothed  her  and  held 
her  in  his  arms,  stroking  her  dark  hair. 

"I  believe  you  would,"  he  said.  "And  now,  as  we 
haven't  got  the  golden  cloud,  let  us  see  how  we  can 
get  on  without  it.  How  shall  we  conquer  that  ogre, 
Monsieur  Tortier?  What  would  you  suggest,  Celes- 
tina?" 

The  child  looked  into  the  fire,  with  eyes  wide-open. 

"Come,  be  a  good  fairy  now,"  urged  Straws,  "and 
tell  me." 

"Why  don't  you  write  him  a  poem  ?"  said  Celestina, 
turning  her  eyes,  bright  with  excitement,  upon  him. 

"A  poem!  Non — by  Jove,  you're  right!  An  in- 
spiration, my  dear!  People  like  to  be  thought  what 
they  are  not.  They  want  to  be  praised  for  virtues 
foreign  to  themselves.  The  ass  wants  to  masquerade 
as  the  lion.  'Tis  the  law  of  nature.  Now  Monsieur 
Tortier  is  a  Jew  ;  a  scrimp  ;  a  usurer !  Very  well,  we 
will  celebrate  the  virtues  he  hath  not  in  verse  and  pub- 
lish the  stanza  in  the  Straws'  column.  After  all,  we 
are  only  following  the  example  of  the  historians,  and 
they're  an  eminently  respectable  lot  of  people.  Celes- 
tina !  You  watch  the  coffee  pot,  and  I'll  grind  out  the 
panegyric !" 

The   child   knelt   before  the   fire,   but   her  glance 


298  THE    STROLLERS 

strayed  from  the  steaming  spout  to  the  poet's  face,  as 
he  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  and  rapidly  scribbled. 
By  the  time  the  bacon  was  fairly  done  and  the  other 
condiments  in  the  frying-pan  had  turned  to  a  dark 
hue,  the  production  was  finished  and  triumphantly 
waved  in  mid  air  by  the  now  hopeful  Straws. 

"I'll  just  read  you  a  part  of  it,  my  dear!"  he  said. 
"It's  not  half  bad.  But  perhaps  it  would — bore  you  ?" 
With  exaggerated  modesty. 

"Oh,  I  just  love  your  poetry!"  cried  the  girl,  enthu- 
siastically. 

"If  everybody  were  only  like  you  now!  Isn't  it 
too  bad  you've  got  to  grow  up  and  grow  wiser?  But 
here's  the  refrain.  There  are  six  stanzas,  but  I  won't 
trouble  you  with  all  of  them,  my  dear.  One  mustn't 
drive  a  willing  horse,  or  a  willing  auditor." 

And  in  a  voice  he  endeavored  to  render  melodious, 
with  her  rapt  glance  fixed  upon  him,  Straws  read : 

"Sing,  my  Muse,  the  lay  of  the  prodigal  host! 
"Who  enters  here  leaveth  behind  not  hope. 
Course  follows  course;  entre"e,  relev£,  ragout, 

Ambrosial  sauces,  pungent,  after  luscious  soup. 
The  landlord  spurs  his  guests  to  fresh  attack, 

With  fricassee,  re"chauff<6  and  omelets; 
A  toothsome  feast  that  Apicius  would  fain  have 

served, 

While  wine,  divine,  new  zeal  in  all  begets. 
Who  is  this  host,  my  Muse,  pray  say? 
Who  but  that  prodigal,  Tortier!" 

"There,  my  dear,"  concluded  Straws,  "those  feet 
are  pretty  wobbly  to  walk,  but  flattery  moves  on  lame 


A   CYNICAL   BARD 


299 


legs  faster  than  truth  will  travel  on  two  good  ones. 
Besides,  I  haven't  time  to  polish  them  properly,  or 
the  mess  in  the  frying-pan  will  spoil.  Better  spoil 
l^ie  poem  than  the  contents  of  the  flesh  pots !  Now  if 
— dear  me,  Celestina,  if  you  haven't  let  the  coffee 
pot  boil  over !" 

"Oh,  Monsieur,"  cried  the  child,  almost  weeping 
again.  "I  forgot  to  watch  it!  I  just  couldn't  while 
you  were  writing  poetry." 

"The  excuse  more  than  condones  the  offense,"  con- 
tinued the  other.  "But  as  I  was  about  to  say, 
you  take  this  poem  to  Monsieur  Tortier,  make  your 
prettiest  bow  and  courtesy — let  me  see  you  make  a 
courtesy." 

The  girl  bowed  as  dainty  as  a  little  duchess. 

"That  should  melt  a  heart  of  stone  in  itself,"  com- 
mented Straws.  "But  Tortier's  is  flint!  After  that 
charming  bow,  you  will  give  him  my  compliments; 
Mr.  Straws'  compliments,  remember;  and,  would  he 
be  kind  enough  just  to  glance  over  this  poem  which 
Mr.  Straws,  with  much  mental  effort,  has  prepared, 
and  which,  if  it  be  acceptable  to  Monsieur  Tortier, 
will  appear  in  Mr.  Straws'  famous  and  much-talked- 
of  column  in  the  paper?" 

"Oh,  Monsieur,  I  can't  remember  all  that !"  said  the 
girl. 

"Do  it  your  own  way  then.  Besides,  it  will  be  bet- 
ter than  mine." 

With  the  poem  hugged  to  her  breast,  the  child 
fairly  flew  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Straws  a  prey  to 


3oo  THE   STROLLERS 

conflicting  emotions.  He  experienced  in  those  mo- 
ments of  suspense  all  the  doubts  and  fears  of  the  nest- 
ling bard  or  the  tadpole  litterateur,  awaiting  the  pleas- 
ure and  sentence  of  the  august  editor  or  the  puissant 
publisher.  Tortier  had  been  suddenly  exalted  to  the 
judge's  lofty  pedestal.  Would  he  forthwith  be  an  im- 
perial autocrat;  turn  tyrant  or  Thersites;  or  become 
critic,  one  of  "those  graminivorous  animals  which  gain 
subsistence  by  gorging  upon  buds  and  leaves  of  the 
young  shrubs  of  the  forest,  robbing  them  of  their  verd- 
ure and  retarding  their  progress  to  maturity"  ? 

Straws'  anxiety  was  trouble's  labor  lost.  Celes-' 
tina  appeared,  the  glad  messenger  of  success,  and  now, 
as  she  came  dancing  into  the  room,  bore  in  her  arms 
the  fruits  of  victory  which  she  laid  before  the  poet 
with  sparkling  eyes  and  laughing  lips. 

"So  the  poem  was  accepted?"  murmured  Straws. 
"Discerning  Tortier!  Excellent  dilettante!  Let  him 
henceforth  be  known  as  a  man  of  taste!"  Here  the 
poet  critically  examined  the  bottle.  "Nothing  vapid, 
thin  or  characterless  there!"  he  added,  holding  it  be- 
fore the  blaze  in  the  grate.  "Positively  I'll  dedicate 
my  forthcoming  book  to  him.  'To  that  worshipful 
master  and  patron,  the  tasteful  Tortier!'  What  did 
he  say,  Celestina,  when  you  tendered  him  the  poem?" 

"At  first  he  frowned  and  then  he  looked  thoughtful. 
And  then  he  gave  me  some  orange  syrup.  And  then 
— O,  I  don't  want  to  say!"  A  look  of  unutterable 
concern  displacing  the  happiness  on  her  features. 

"Say  on,  my  dear !"  cried  Straws. 


ACYNICALBARD  301 

"He — he  said  he — he  didn't  think  much  of  it  as — O, 
I  can't  tell  you ;  I  can't !  I  can't  \" 

"Celestina,"  said  the  poet  sternly,  "tell  me  at  once. 
I  command  you." 

"He  said  he  didn't  think  much  of  it  as  poetry,  but 
that  people  would  read  it  and  come  to  his  cafe  and — 

0  dear,  O  dear !" 

"Beast!  Brute!  Parvenu!  But  there,  don't  cry, 
my  dear.  We  have  much  to  be  thankful  for — we 
have  the  bottle." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said  with  conviction,  and  brighten- 
ing a  bit.  "We  have  the  bottle."  And  as  she  spoke, 
"pop"  it  went,  and  Celestina  laughed.  "May  I  set 
your  table  ?"  she  asked. 

"After  your  inestimable  service  to  me,  my  dear,  I 
find  it  impossible  to  refuse,"  he  replied  gravely. 

"How  good  you  are!"  she  remarked,  placing  a 
rather  soiled  cloth,  which  she  found  somewhere,  over 
a  battered  trunk. 

"I  try  not  to  be,  but  I  can't  help  it !"  answered  the 
poet  modestly. 

"No;  that's  it;  you  can't  help  it!"  she  returned, 
moving  lightly  around  the  room,  emptying  the  con- 
tents of  the  frying-pan — now  an  aromatic  jumble — 
on  to  a  cracked  blue  platter,  and  setting  knife  and 
fork,  and  a  plate,  also  blue,  before  him!  "And  may 

1  wait  on  you,  too?" 

"Well,  as  a  special  favor — "    He  paused,  appear- 
ing to  ponder  deeply  and  darkly. 
Her  eyes  were  bent  upon  his  face  with  mute  appeal, 


302  THE   STROLLERS 

her  suspense  so  great  she  stood  stock-still  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor,  frying-pan  in  hand. 

"Yes;  you  may  wait  on  me,"  he  said  finally,  after 
perplexed  and  weighty  rumination. 

At  that  her  little  feet  fairly  twinkled,  but  her  hand 
was  ever  so  careful  as  she  took  the  coffee  pot  from 
the  fire  and  put  it  near  the  blue  plate.  A  glass — how 
well  she  knew  where  everything  was! — she  found  in 
some  mysterious  corner  and,  sitting  down  on  the  floor, 
cross-legged  like  a  little  Turk,  a  mere  mite  almost  lost 
in  the  semi-obscurity  of  the  room,  she  polished  it  as- 
siduously upon  the  corner  of  the  table  cloth  until  it 
shone  free  from  specks  of  dust ;  all  the  time  humming 
very  lightly  like  a  bird,  or  a  housewife  whose  heart  is  in 
her  work.  A  strange  song,  a  curious  bit  of  melody 
that  seemed  to  spring  from  some  dark  past  and  to 
presage  a  future,  equally  sunless. 

"Your  supper  is  ready,  Monsieur,"  she  said,  rising. 

"And  I  am  ready  for  it.  Why,  how  nicely  the  table 
looks !  Really,  when  we  both  grow  up,  I  think  we 
should  take  a  silver  ship  and  sail  to  some  silver  shore 
and  live  together  there  forever  and  evermore.  How 
would  you  like  it?" 

Celestina's  lips  were  mute,  but  her  eyes  were  full 
of  rapturous  response,  and  then  became  suddenly 
shy,  as  though  afraid  of  their  own  happiness. 

"May  I  pour  your  wine?"  she  asked,  with  down- 
cast lashes. 

"Can  you  manage  it  and  not  spill  a  drop  ?    Remem- 


A   CYNICAL   BARD 


303 


ber  Cratinus  wept  and  died  of  grief  seeing  his  wine — 
no  doubt,  this  same  vintage — spilt!" 

But  Straws  was  not  called  upon  to  emulate  this 
9lassic  example.  The  feat  of  filling  his  glass  was 
deftly  accomplished,  and  a  moment  later  the  poet 
raised  it  with,  "  'Drink  to  me  only  with  thine 
eyes !'  "  An  appropriate  sentiment  for  Celestina  who 
had  nothing  else  to  drink  to  him  with.  "Won't  you 
have  some  of  this — what  shall  I  call  it? — hash,  stew 
or  ration?" 

"Oh,  I've  had  my  supper,"  she  answered. 

"How  fortunate  for  you,  my  dear !  It  isn't  exactly 
a  company  bill  of  fare !  But  everything  is  what  I 
call  snug  and  cozy.  Here  we  are  high  up  in  the 
world — right  under  the  roof — all  by  ourselves,  with 
nobody  to  disturb  us — " 

A  heavy  footfall  without ;  rap,  rap,  rap,  on  the  door ; 
no  timid,  faltering  knock,  but  a  firm  application  of 
somebody's  knuckles ! 

"It's  that  Jack-in-the-box  Frenchman,"  muttered 
the  writer.  "Go  to  the  devil !"  he  called  out. 

The  door  opened. 

"You  have  an  original  way  of  receiving  visitors!" 
drawled  a  languid  voice,  and  the  glance  of  the  sur- 
prised poet  fell  upon  Edward  Mauville.  "Really,  I 
don't  know  whether  to  come  in  or  not,"  continued  the 
latter  at  the  threshold. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  murmured  Straws.  "I 
thought  it  was  a — " 


304  THE   STROLLERS 

"Creditor?"  suggested  Mauville,  with  an  amused 
smile.  "I  know  the  class.  Don't  apologize!  I  am 
intruding.  Quite  a  family  party!"  he  went  on,  his 
gaze  resting  upon  Celestina  and  the  interrupted  re- 
past. 

With  his  elegant  attire,  satin  waistcoat  and .  fine 
ruffles,  he  seemed  out  of  place  in  the  attic  nook  of 
the  Muse;  a  lordling  who  had  wandered  by  mistake 
into  the  wrong  room.  But  he  bore  himself  with  the 
easy  assurance  of  a  man  who  could  adapt  himself 
to  any  surroundings;  even  to  Calliope's  shabby  bou- 
doir! 

"My  dear,"  remarked  the  disconcerted  bard,  "get 
a  chair  for  Mr.  Mauville.  Or — I  beg  your  pardon — 
would  you  mind  sitting  on  the  bed  ?  Won't  you  have 
some  wine?  Celestina,  bring  another  glass." 

But  the  girl  only  stood  and  stared  at  the  dark, 
courtly  being  who  thus  unexpectedly  had  burst  in 
upon  them. 

"There  isn't  any  more,"  she  finally  managed  to  say. 
"You've  got  the  only  glass  there  is,  please !" 

"Dear  me;  dear  me!"  exclaimed  Straws.  "How 
glasses  do  get  broken !  I  have  so  few  occasions  to  use 
them,  too,  for  I  don't  very  often  have  visitors." 

"You  are  surprised  to  see  me  ?"  continued  Mauville, 
pleasantly,  seating  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
"Go  on  with  your  supper.  You  don't  mind  my  smok- 
ing while  you  eat  ?" 

"No ;  the  odor  of  onions  is  a  little  strong,  isn't  it  ?" 
laughed  the  other.  "Rather  strange,  by  the  by,  some 


ACYNICALBARD  305 

of  nature's  best  restoratives  should  be  rank  and 
noisome,  while  her  poisons,  like  the  Upas  tree,  are 
often  sweet-smelling  and  agreeable  ?" 

"Yes,"  commented  the  land  baron ;  "we  make  the 
worst  faces  over  the  medicines  that  do  us  the  most 
good." 

"I  presume,"  said  Straws,  delighted  at  the  prospect 
of  an  argument,  and  forgetting  his  curiosity  over  the 
other's  visit  in  this  brief  interchange  of  words,  "na- 
ture but  calls  our  attention  to  the  fact  that  we  may 
know  our  truest  friends  are  not  those  with  the  sweet- 
est manners." 

"Heaven  forbid !"  remarked  Mauville.  "But  how 
are  you  getting  on  with  your  column?  A  surfeit  of 
news  and  gossip,  •  I  presume  ?  What  a  busy  fellow 
you  are,  to  be  sure !  Nothing  escapes  through  your 
seine.  Big  fish  or  little  fish,  it  is  all  one.  You  dress 
them  up  with  alluring  sauce." 

The  bard  shook  his  head. 

"The  net  has  been  coming  in  dry,"  he  said  gloomily. 
"But  that's  the  way  with  the  fish.  Sometimes  you 
catch  a  good  haul,  and  then  they  all  disappear.  It's 
been  bad  luck  lately." 

"Perhaps  I  can  make  a  cast  for  you,"  cried  the  pa- 
troon  eagerly. 

"And  bring  up  what  ?"  asked  the  hack. 

"Something  everybody  will  read;  that  will  set  the 
gossips  talking." 

"A  woman's  reputation?" 

"No;  a  man's." 


306  THE   STROLLERS 

"That  is  to  be  regretted,"  said  Straws.  "If,  now, 
it  were  only  a  woman's — .  However,  it's  the  next 
best  thing  to  start  the  town  a-gossiping.  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you  for  taking  the  trouble  of  calling.  All 
those  stairs  to  climb,  too !" 

"I  was  sure  you  would  be  glad  to  hear  of  it,"  re- 
marked the  patroon,  slowly,  studying  with  his  bright, 
insolent  glance,  the  pale,  intellectual  face  of  the  scrib- 
bler. 

"Yes ;  there's  only  one  thing  stands  in  the  way." 

"And  that?" 

"I  never  publish  anything  I  don't  believe.  Don't 
misunderstand  me,  please."  Pouring  out  a  glass  of 
wine.  "Unfortunately  I  am  so  incredulous !  Isn't 
it  a  pity  ?  I  am  such  a  carping  cynic ;  a  regular  skep- 
tic that  follows  the  old  adage,  'Believe  that  story 
false  that  ought  not  to  be  true.'  It's  such  a  detriment 
to  my  work,  too !  A  pretty  scandal  at  the  top  of  my 
column  would  make  me  famous,  while  a  sprinkling 
of  libels  and  lampoons  would  enable  me  to  move  down 
a  story  or  two.  But,  after  all,  I'd  feel  lost  in  the 
luxury  of  a  first  floor  front  chamber.  So,  you  see, 
nature  adjusts  herself  to  our  needs." 

"Makes  the  shell  to  fit  the  snail,  as  it  were,"  com- 
mented the  land  baron,  patronizingly,  gazing  around 
the  little  cupboard  of  a  room.  "At  any  rate,"  he 
added,  in  an  effort  to  hide  his  dissatisfaction,  "it's  a 
pleasure  to  become  better  acquainted  with  such  a — 
what  shall  I  say? — whimsical  fellow  as  yourself?" 


A   CYNICAL   BARD  307 

"That's  it,"  returned  the  bard.     "Whimsical !" 

"I  dare  say  you  have  had  many  a  chance  to 
turn  an  honest  penny  or  two,  if  you  had  not  been 
so  skeptical,  as  you  call  it?"  remarked  the  patroon, 
significantly.  "People,  I  presume,  have  even  offered 
to  pay  you  for  publishing  the  compliments  of  the  sea- 
son about  their  neighbors  ?" 

"Well,"  answered  the  scribbler,  laughing,  "I  may 
have  Midas'  longing  for  gold,  but  I  also  have  his 
ears.  And  the  ears  predominate.  I  am  such  an  ass 
I  have  even  returned  a  fair  petitioner's  perfumed  note ! 
Such  a  dainty  little  hand!  How  good  the  paper 
smelt!  How  devilish  it  read!  The  world's  idea 
about  the  devil  always  smelling  of  sulphur  and  brim- 
stone is  a  slander  on  that  much  abused  person.  I 
can  positively  affirm  that  he  smells  of  musk,  attar, 
myrrh;  as  though  he  had  lain  somewhere  with  a 
lady's  sachet  or  scent-bag." 

"Really  you  should  revise  Milton,"  murmured  the 
land  baron,  carelessly,  his  interest  quite  gone.  "But 
I  must  be  moving  on."  And  he  arose.  "Good  even- 
ing!" 

"Good  night !"  said  Straws,  going  to  the  door  after 
his  departing  guest.  "Can  you  see  your  way  down? 
Look  out  for  the  turn !  And  don't  depend  too  much 
on  the  bannisters — they're  rather  shaky.  Well,  he's 
gone!"  Returning  once  more  to  the  room.  "We're 
coming  up  in  the  world,  my  dear,  when  such  fashion- 
able callers  visit  us !  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?" 


308  THE    STROLLERS 

"He  is  very — handsome !"  replied  the  child. 

"Oh,  the  vanity  of  the  sex!  Is  he — is  he  hand- 
somer than  I ?" 

"Are  you — handsome?"  she  asked.  . 

"Eh?     Don't  you  think  so?" 

"No-o,"  she  cried,  in  a  passion  of  distressed  truth- 
fulness. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear!  What  a  flattering  creature 
you'll  become,  if  you  keep  on  as  you've  begun !  How 
you'll  wheedle  the  men,  to  be  sure!" 

"But  mustn't  I  say  what  I  think  ?" 

"Always!  I'm  a  bad  adviser!  Think  of  bringing 
up  a  young  person,  especially  a  girl,  to  speak  the 
truth !  What  a  time  she'll  have !" 

"But  I  couldn't  do  anything  else!"  she  continued, 
with  absorbing  and  painful  anxiety. 

"Don't,  then !  I'm  instructing  you  to  your  destruc- 
tion, but — don't !  I'm  a  philosopher  in  the  School  for 
Making  Simpletons.  What  will  you  do  when  you 
go  out  into  the  broad  world  with  truth  for  your  ban- 
ner and  your  heart  on  your  sleeve  ?" 

"How  could  I  have  my  heart  on  my  sleeve?"  asked 
Celestina. 

"Because  you  couldn't  help  it !" 

"Really  and  truly  on  my  sleeve?" 

"Really  and  truly !"  he  affirmed,  gravely. 

"How  funny  P  answered  the  girl. 

"No;  tragic!  But  what  shall  we  do  now,  Celes- 
tina?" 

"Wash  the  dishes,"  said  the  child,  practically. 


A    CYNICAL   BARD  309 

"But,  my  dear,  we  won't  need  them  until  to-mor- 
row," expostulated  the  poet.  "Precipitancy  is  a  bad 
fault.  Now,  if  you  had  proposed  a  little  music,  or  a 
fairy  tale — " 

"Oh,  I  could  wash  them  while  you  played,  or  told 
me  a  story,"  suggested  the  child,  eagerly. 

"That  isn't  such  a  bad  idea,"  commented  Straws, 
reflectively. 

"Then  you  will  let  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"Go  ahead !"  said  the  bard,  and  he  reached  for  the 
whistle. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE  SWEETEST  THING  IN   NATURE 

The  city,  bustling  and  animated  by  day,  like  an  en- 
ergetic housewife,  was  at  night  a  gay  demoiselle, 
awakening  to  new  life  and  excitement.  The  clerk 
betook  himself  to  his  bowling  or  billiards  and  the  me- 
chanic to  the  circus,  while  beauty  and  fashion  repaired 
to  the  concert  room  or  to  the  Opera  Frangais,  to  listen 
to  Halevy  or  Donizetti.  Restless  Americans  or  Irish- 
men rubbed  elbows  with  the  hurrying  Frenchman  or 
Spaniard,  and  the  dignified  Creole  gentleman  of  lei- 
sure alone  was  wrapped  in  a  plenitude  of  dignity, 
computing  probably  the  interest  he  drew  on  money 
loaned  these  assiduous  foreigners. 

Soldiers  who  had  been  granted  leave  of  absence  or 
had  slipped  the  guard  at  the  camp  on  Andrew  Jack- 
son's battle-ground  swaggered  through  the  streets. 
The  change  from  a  diet  of  pork  and  beans  and  army 
hard  tack  was  so  marked  that  Uncle  Sam's  young 
men  threw  restraint  to  the  winds,  took  the  mask  balls 
by  storm  and  .gallantly  assailed  and  made  willing 
prisoners  of  the  fair  sex.  Eager  to  exchange  their 
(310) 


THE    SWEETEST   THING        311 

irksome  life  in  camp  for  the  active  campaign  in  Mex- 
ico, it  was  small  wonder  they  relieved  their  impatience 
by  many  a  valiant  dash  into  the  hospitable  town. 

Carriages  drove  by  with  a  rumble  and  a  clatter,  re- 
vealing a  fleeting  glimpse  of  some  beauty  with  full, 
dark  eye.  Venders  of  flowers  importuned  the  pass- 
ers-by, doing  a  brisk  business ;  the  oyster  and  coffee 
stands  reminded  the  spectator  of  a  thoroughfare  in 
London  on  a  Saturday  night,  ^with  the  people  congre- 
gating about  the  street  stalls;  but  the  brilliantly  illu- 
mined places  of  amusement,  with  their  careless  pa- 
trons plainly  apparent  to  all  from  without,  resembled 
rather  a  boulevard  scene  in  the  metropolis  of  France. 
"Probably,"  says  a  skeptical  chronicler,  "here  and 
there  are  quiet  drawing-rooms,  and  tranquil  firesides, 
where  domestic  love  is  a  chaste,  presiding  goddess." 
But  the  writer  merely  presumes  such  might  have  been 
the  case,  and  it  is  evident  from  his  manner  of  expres- 
sion, he  offers  the  suggestion,  or  after-thought,  char- 
itably, with  some  doubts  in  his  mind.  Certainly  he 
never  personally  encountered  the  chaste  goddess  of 
the  hearth,  or  he  would  have  qualified  his  words  and 
made  his  statement  more  positive. 

From  the  life  of  the  streets,  the  land  baron  turned 
into  a  well-lighted  entrance,  passing  into  a  large,  lux- 
uriously furnished  saloon,  at  one  end  of  which  stood 
a  table  somewhat  resembling  a  roulette  board.  Seated 
on  one  side  was  the  phlegmatic  cashier,  and,  opposite 
him,  the  dealer,  equally  impassive.  Unlike  faro — 
the  popular  New  Orleans  game — no  deal  box  was 


312  THE    STROLLERS 

needed,  the  dealer  holding  the  cards  in  his  hand,  while 
a  cavity  in  the  center  of  the  table  contained  a  basket, 
where  the  cards,  once  used,  were  tin-own.  A  large 
chandelier  cast  a  brilliant  light  upon  the  scene. 

"Messieurs,  faites  vos  jeux"  drawled  the  monoto- 
nous voice  of  the  dealer,  and  expectation  was  keenly 
written  on  the  faces  of  the  double  circle  of  players — 
variously  disclosed,  but,  nevertheless,  apparent  in  all; 
a  transformation  of  the  natural  expression  of  the  feat- 
ures; an  obvious  nervousness  of  manner,  or  where 
the  countenance  was  impassive,  controlled  by  a  strong 
will,  a  peculiar  glitter  of  the  eyes,  betokening  the  most 
insatiable  species  of  the  gambler.  As  the  dealer  be- 
gan to  shuffle  together  six  packs  of  cards  and  place 
them  in  a  row  on  the  table,  he  called  out : 

"Nothing  more  goes,  gentlemen!" 

The  rapidity  with  which  the  cashier  counted  the 
winnings  at  a  distance  and  shoved  them  here  and  there 
with  the  long  rake  was  amazing  and  bewildering  to 
the  novice  risking  a  few  gold  pieces  for  the  first  time 
on  the  altar  of  chance.  Sorting  the  gold  pieces  in 
even  bunches,  the  cashier  estimated  them  in  a  moment ; 
shoved  them  together;  counted  an  equal  amount  of 
fives  with  his  fingers;  made  a  little  twirl  in  the  pile 
on  the  table;  pushed  it  toward  the  winning  pieces 
and  left  them  tumbled  up  together  in  pleasing  con- 
fusion. 

"Messieurs,  faites  vos — " 

And  the  clinking  went  on,  growing  louder  and 
louder,  the  clinking  of  gold,  which  has  a  particularly 


THE    SWEETEST   THING        313 

musical  sound,  penetrating,  crystalline  as  the  golden 
bells  of  Exodus,  tinkling  in  the  twilight  of  the  temple 
on  the  priest's  raiment.  The  clinking,  clinking,  that 
lingers  in  the  brain  long  after,  drawing  the  players 
to  it  night  after  night;  an  intoxicating  murmur, 
singing  the  desires  that  dominate  the  world;  the  jing- 
ling that  makes  all  men  kin ! 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  a  light  feminine  voice,  as  the 
rapacious  rake  unceremoniously  drew  in  a  poor,  di- 
minutive pile  of  gold.  "Why  did  I  play?  Isn't  it 
provoking  ?" 

"You  have  my  sympathy,  Mistress  Susan,"  breathed 
a  voice  near  her. 

Looking  around,  she  had  the  grace  to  blush  becom- 
ingly, and  approached  Mauville  with  an  expressive 
gesture,  leaving  Adonis  and  Kate  at  the  table. 

"Don't  be  shocked,  Mr.  Mauville,"  she  began,  hur- 
riedly. "We  were  told  it  was  among  the  sights,  and, 
having  natural  curiosity — " 

"I  understand.  Armed  with  righteousness,  why 
should  not  one  go  anywhere?" 

"Why,  indeed?"  she  murmured. 

"But  I'm  afraid  I'm  taking  you  from  your  play?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  play  any  more  to-night." 

"Tired,  already?" 

"No;  but— but  I  haven't  a  cent.  That  miserable 
table  has  robbed  me  of  everything.  All  I  have  left" 
— piteously — "are  the  clothes  on  my  back." 

"Something  must  have  been  the  matter  with  your 
'system.'  But  if  a  temporary  loan — " 


314  THE    STROLLERS 

Susan  was  tempted,  gazing  longingly  at  the  table, 
with  the  fever  burning  in  her. 

"No,"  she  said,  finally.  "I  think  I  would  win,  but, 
of  course,  I  might  lose." 

"A  wise  reservation !  Never  place  your  fortune  on 
the  hazard  of  the  die." 

"But  I  have !  What's  the  use  of  making  good  res- 
olutions now?  It's  like  closing  the  barn-door  after 

» 

"Just  so!"  he  agreed.  "But  it  might  have  been 
worse." 

"How?"  In  dismay.  "Didn't  that  stony-looking 
man  rake  in  my  last  gold  piece?  He  didn't  even 
look  sorry,  either.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  your 
arm?"  The  land  baron's  expression  became  ominous. 
"You  shook  hands  with  your  left  hand.  Oh,  I  see; 
the  duel !"  Lightly. 

"How  did  you  hear  about  it?"  asked  Mauville,  irri- 
tably. 

"Oh,  in  a  roundabout  way.  Murder  will  out! 
And  Constance — she  was  so  solicitous  about  Mr. 
Saint-Prosper,  but  rather  proud,  I  believe,  because 
he" — with  a  laugh — "came  off  victorious." 

Susan's  prattle,  although  accompanied  by  innocent 
glances  from  her  blue  eyes,  was  sometimes  the  most 
irritating  thing  in  the  world,  and  the  land  baron, 
goaded  beyond  endurance,  now  threw  off  his  careless 
manner  and  swore  in  an  undertone  by  "every  devil  in 
Satan's  calendar." 


THE   SWEETEST   THING        315 

"Can  you  not  reserve  your  soliloquy  until  you  leave 
me?"  observed  Susan,  sweetly.  "Otherwise — " 

"I  regret  to  have  shocked  your  ladyship,"  he  mur- 
mured, satirically. 

"I  forgive  you."  Raising  her  guileless  eyes. 
"When  I  think  of  the  provocation,  I  do  not  blame 
you — so  much !" 

"That  is  more  than  people  do  in  your  case,"  mut- 
tered the  land  baron  savagely. 

Susan's  hand  trembled.  "What  do  you  mean?" 
she  asked,  not  without  apprehension  regarding  his 
answer. 

"Oh,  that  affair  with  the  young  officer — the  lad 
who  was  killed  in  the  duel,  you  know — " 

Her  composure  forsook  her  for  the  moment  and 
she  bit  her  lip  cruelly. 

"Don't!"  she  whispered.  "I  am  not  to  blame.  I 
never  dreamed  it  would  go  so  far!  Why  should 
people — " 

"Why?"  he  interposed,  ironically. 

Susan  pulled  herself  together.  "Yes,  why?"  she 
repeated,  defiantly.  "Can  women  prevent  men  from 
making  fools  of  themselves  any  more  than  they  can 
prevent  them  from  amusing  themselves  as  they  will? 
To-day  it  is  this  toy ;  to-morrow,  another.  At  length" 
— bitterly — "a  woman  comes  to  consider  herself  only 
a  toy." 

Her  companion  regarded  her  curiously.  "Well, 
well!"  he  ejaculated,  finally.  "Losing  at  cards 
doesn't  agree  with  your  temper." 


316  THE   STROLLERS 

"Nor  being  worsted  by  Saint-Prosper  with  yours !" 
she  retorted  quickly. 

Mauville  looked  virulent,  but  Susan,  feeling  that 
she  had  retaliated  in  ample  measure,  recovered  her 
usual  equanimity  of  temper  and  placed  a  conciliatory 
hand  sympathetically  on  his  arm. 

"We  have  both  had  a  good  deal  to  try  us,  haven't 
we?  But  how  stupid  men  are!"  she  added  suddenly. 
"As  if  you  could  not  find  other  consolation !" 

He  directed  toward  her  an  inquiring  glance. 

"Some  time  ago,  while  I  was  acting  in  London,"  re- 
sumed Susan,  thoughtfully,  "the  leading  lady  refused 
to  receive  the  attentions  of  a  certain  odious  English 
lord.  She  was  to  make  her  appearance  in  a  piece 
upon  which  her  reputation  was  staked.  Mark  what 
happened !  She  was  hissed !  Hissed  from  the  stage ! 
My  lord  led  this  hostile  demonstration  and  all  his. 
hired  claqueurs  joined  in.  She  was  ruined;  ruined!" 
concluded  Susan,  smiling  amiably. 

"You  are  ingenious,  Mistress  Susan — not  to  say  a 
trifle  diabolical.  Your  plan — " 

She  opened  her  eyes  widely.  "I  have  suggested  no 
plan,"  she  interrupted,  hurriedly. 

"Well,  let  us  sit  down  and  I  will  tell  you  about  a 
French  officer  who —  But  here  is  a  quiet  corner, 
Mistress  Susan,  and  if  you  will  promise  not  to  repeat 
it,  I  will  regale  you  with  a  bit  of  interesting  gossip." 

"I  promise — they  always  do !"  she  laughed. 

For  such  a  frivolous  lady,  Susan  was  an  excellent 


THE   SWEETEST   THING        317 

listener.  She,  who  on  occasions  chattered  like  a  mag- 
pie, was  now  silent  as  a  mouse,  drinking  in  the  oth- 
er's words  with  parted  lips  and  sparkling  eyes.  First 
he  showed  her  the  letter  Francois  had  brought  him. 
Unmarked  by  postal  indications,  the  missive  had  evi- 
dently been  intrusted  to  a  private  messenger  of  the 
governor  whose  seal  it  bore.  Dated  about  three  years 
previously,  it  was  written  in  a  somewhat  illegible, 
but  not  unintelligible,  scrawl,  the  duke's  own  hand- 
writing. 

"I  send  you,  my  dear  marquis,"  began  the  duke,  "a 
copy  of  the  secret  report  of  the  military  tribunal  ap- 
pointed to  investigate  the  charges  against  your  kins- 
man, Lieut.  Saint-Prosper,  and  regret  the  finding  of 
the  court  should  have  been  one  of  guilty  of  treason. 

"Saint-Prosper  and  Abd-el-Kader  met  near  the 
tomb  of  a  marabout.  From  him  the  French  officer 
received  a  famous  ruby  which  he  thrust  beneath  his 
zaboot — the  first  fee  of  their  compact.  That  night 
when  the  town  lay  sleeping,  a  turbaned  host,  armed 
with  yataghans,  stole  through  the  flowering  cactuses. 
Sesame!  The  gate  opened  to  them;  they  swarmed 
within !  The  soldiers,  surprised,  could  render  little  re- 
sistance; the  ruthless  invaders  cut  them  down  while 
they  were  sleeping  or  before  they  could  sound  the 
alarm.  The  bravest  blood  of  France  flowed  lavishly  in 
the  face  of  the  treacherous  onslaught;  blood  of  men 
who  had  been  his  fastest  friends,  among  whom  he  had 
been  so  popular  for  his  dauntless  courage  and  devil- 


318  THE    STROLLERS 

may-care  temerity !  But  a  period,  fearfully  brief,  and 
the  beloved  tri-color  was  trampled  in  the  dust ;  the  bar- 
barian flag  of  the  Emir  floated  in  its  place. 

"All  these  particulars,  and  the  part  Saint-Prosper 
played  in  the  terrible  drama,  Abd-el-Kader,  who  is 
now  our  prisoner,  has  himself  confessed.  The  ne- 
cessity for  secrecy,  you,  my  dear  Marquis,  will  appre- 
ciate. The  publicity  of  the  affair  now  would  work 
incalculable  injury  to  the  nation.  It  is  imperative  to 
preserve  the  army  from  the  taint  of  scandal.  The  na- 
tion hangs  on  a  thread.  God  knows  there  is  iniquity 
abroad.  I,  who  have  labored  for  the  honor  of  France 
and  planted  her  flag  in  distant  lands,  look  for  defeat, 
not  through  want  of  bravery,  but  from  internal  causes. 
A  matter  like  this  might  lead  to  a  popular  uprising 
against  the  army.  Therefore,  the  king  wills  it  shall 
be  buried  by  his  faithful  servants." 

As  Mauville  proceeded  Susan  remained  motionless, 
her  eyes  growing  larger  and  larger,  until  they  shone 
like  two  lovely  sapphires,  but  when  he  concluded  she 
gave  a  little  sigh  of  pleasure  and  leaned  back  with  a 
pleased  smile. 

"Well?"  he  said,  finally,  after  waiting  some  mo- 
ments for  her  to  speak. 

"How  piquantly  wicked  he  is!"  she  exclaimed, 
softly. 

"Piquantly,  indeed!"  repeated  the  land  baron, 
dryly. 

"And  he  carries  it  without  a  twinge !  What  a  pet- 
rified conscience !" 


THE   SWEETEST   THING        319 

"I  believe  you  find  him  more  interesting  than  ever  ?" 
said  Mauville,  impatiently. 

"Possibly!"  Languidly.  "An  exceptional  moral 
ailment  sometimes  makes  a  man  more  attractive — 
like  a — an  interesting  subject  in  a  hospital,  you  know! 
But  I  have  always  felt,"  she  continued,  with  sudden 
seriousness,  "there  was  something  wrong  with  him. 
When  I  first  saw  him,  I  was  sure  he  had  had  no  ordi- 
nary past,  but  I  did  not  dream  it  was  quite  so — what 
shall  we  call  it — " 

"Unsavory  ?"  suggested  her  companion. 

"That  accounts  for  his  unwillingness  to  talk  about 
Africa,"  went  on  Susan.  "Soldiers,  as  a  rule,  you 
know,  like  to  tell  all  about  their  sanguinary  exploits. 
But  the  tented  field  was  a  forbidden  topic  with  him. 
And  once  when  I  asked  him  about  Algiers  he  was 
almost  rudely  evasive." 

"He  probably  lives  in  constant  fear  his  secret  will 
become  known,"  said  Mauville,  thoughtfully.  "As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  law  provides  that  no  person  is  to  be 
indicted  for  treason  unless  within  three  years  after  the 
offense.  The  tribunal  did  not  return  an  indictment; 
the  three  years  have  just  expired.  Did  he  come  to 
America  to  make  sure  of  these  three  years  ?" 

But  Susan's  thoughts  had  flitted  to  another  feature 
of  the  story. 

"How  strange  my  marquis  should  be  connected 
with  the  case!  What  an  old  compliment-monger  he 
was !  He  vowed  he  was  deeply  smitten  with  me." 


320  THE   STROLLERS 

"And  then  went  home  and  took  to  his  bed !"  added 
Mauville,  grimly. 

"You  wretch!"  said  the  young  woman,  playfully. 
"So  that  is  the  reason  the  dear  old  molly-coddle  did 
not  take  me  to  any  of  the  gay  suppers  he  promised? 
Is  it  not  strange  Saint-Prosper  has  not  met  him  ?" 

"You  forget  the  marquis  has  been  confined  to  his 
room  since  his  brief,  but  disastrous,  courtship  of  you. 
His  infatuation  seems  to  have  brought  him  to  the 
verge  of  dissolution." 

"Was  it  not  worth  the  price?"  she  retorted,  rising. 
"But  I  see  my  sister  and  Adonis  are  going,  so  I  must 
be  off,  too.  So  glad  to  have  met  you !" 

"You  are  no  longer  angry  with  me  ?" 

"No ;  you  are  very  nice,"  she  said.  "And  you  have 
forgiven  me  ?" 

"Need  you  ask?"  Pressing  her  hand.  "Good  ev- 
ening, Mistress  Susan!" 

"Good  evening.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  have  an  ap- 
pointment with  Constance  to  rehearse  a  little  scene 
together  this  evening.  Would  you  mind  loaning  me 
that  letter  ?" 

"With  pleasure ;  but  remember  your  promise." 

"Promise?"  repeated  the  young  woman. 

"Not  to  tell." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  Susan. 

"But  if  you  shouldn't—" 

"Then?" 

"Then  you  might  say  the  marquis,  your  friend  and 


THE    SWEETEST   THING        321 

admirer,  gave  you  the  letter.  It  would,  perhaps,  be 
easier  for  you  to  account  for  it  than  for  me." 

"But  if  the  marquis  should  learn — "  began  the 
other,  half-dubiously. 

"He  is  too  ill  for  anything  except  the  grave." 

"Oh,  the  poor  old  dear !" 

She  looked  at  the  gaming  table  with  its  indefatigable 
players  and  then  turned  to  Kate  and  Adonis  who  ap- 
proached at  that  moment.  "How  did  you  come  out, 
Adonis?" 

"Out,"  he  said,  curtly. 

"Lucky  in  love,  unlucky  at" — began  Kate. 

"Then  you  must  be  very  unlucky  in  love,"  he  re- 
torted, "for  you  were  a  good  winner  at  cards." 

"Oh,  there  are  exceptions  to  that  rule,"  said  Kate 
lazily,  with  a  yawn.  "I'm  lucky  at  both — in  New 
Orleans !" 

"I  have  perceived  it,"  retorted  Adonis,  bitterly. 

"Don't  quarrel,"  Susan  implored.  Regarding  the 
table  once  more,  she  sighed:  "I'm  so  sorry  I  came!" 

But  her  feet  fairly  danced  as  she  flew  towards  the 
St.  Charles.  She  entered,  airy  as  a  saucy  craft,  with 
"all  sails  in  full  chase,  ribbons  and  gauzes  streaming 
at  the  top,"  and,  with  a  frou-frou  of  skirts,  burst  into 
Constance's  room,  brimful  of  news  and  importance. 
She  remained  there  for  some  time,  and  when  she  left, 
it  was  noteworthy  her  spirits  were  still  high.  In 
crossing  the  hall,  her  red  stockings  became  a  fitting 
color  accompaniment  to  her  sprightly  step,  as  she 


322  THE   STROLLERS 

moved  over  the  heavy  carpet,  skirts  raised  coquet- 
tishly,  humming  with  the  gaiety  of  a  young  girl  who 
has  just  left  boarding  school. 

"A  blooming,  innocent  creature!"  growled  an  up- 
the-river  planter,  surveying  her  from  one  of  the  land- 
ings. "Lord  love  me,  if  she  were  only  a  quadroon, 
I'd  buy  her!" 


CHAPTER    IX 

A  DEBUT  IN  THE  CRESCENT  CITY 

A  versatile  dramatic  poet  is  grim  Destiny,  making 
with  equal  facility  tragedy,  farce,  burletta,  masque  or 
mystery.  The  world  is  his  inn,  and,  like  the  wander- 
ing master  of  interludes,  he  sets  up  his  stage  in  the 
courtyard,  beneath  the  windows  of  mortals,  takes  out 
his  figures  and  evolves  charming  comedies,  stirring 
melodramas,  spirited  harlequinades  and  moving  di- 
vertissement. But  it  is  in  tragedy  his  constructive 
ability  is  especially  apparent,  and  his  characters,  trip- 
ping along  unsuspectingly  in  the  sunny  byways,  are 
suddenly  confronted  by  the  terrifying  mask  and  real- 
ize life  is  not  all  pleasant  pastime  and  that  the  Greek 
philosophy  of  retribution  is  nature's  law,  preserving 
the  unities.  When  the  time  comes,  the  Master  of 
events,  adjusting  them  in  prescribed  lines,  reaches  by 
stern  obligation  the  avoidless  conclusion. 

Consulting  no  law  but  his  own  will,  the  Marquis 

de  Ligne  had  lived  as  though  he  were  the  autocrat  of 

fate  itself  instead  of  one  of  its  servants,  and  therefore 

was   surprised   when  the  venerable  playwright  pre- 

(323) 


324  THE    STROLLERS 

pared  the  unexpected  denouement.  In  pursuance  of 
this  end,  it  was  decreed  by  the  imperious  and  incon- 
trovertible dramatist  of  the  human  family  that  this 
crabbed,  vicious,  antiquated  marionette  should  wend 
his  way  to  the  St.  Charles  on  a  particular  evening. 
Since  the  day  at  the  races,  the  eccentric  nobleman 
had  been  ill  and  confined  to  his  room,  but  now  he 
was  beginning  to  hobble  around,  and,  immediately 
with  returning  strength,  sought  diversion. 

"Frangois,"  he  said,  "what  is  there  at  the  theater 
to-night  ?" 

"Comic  opera,  my  lord?" 

The  marquis  made  a  grimace.  "Comic  opera  out- 
side of  Paris !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders. 

"A  new  actress  makes  her  debut  at  the  St. 
Charles." 

"Let  it  be  the  debut,  then!  Perhaps  she  will  fail, 
and  that  will  amuse  me." 

"Yes,  my  lord." 

"And,  by  the  way,  Frangois,  did  you  see  anything 
of  a  large  envelope,  a  buff-colored  envelope,  I  thought 
I  left  in  my  secretary?" 

"No,  my  lord."  But  Frangois  became  just  a  shade 
paler. 

"It  is  strange,"  said  the  marquis,  half  to  himself, 
"what  could  have  become  of  it!  I  destroyed  other 
papers,  but  not  that.  You  are  sure,  Frangois,  you  did 
not  steal  it?" 

By  this  time  the  servant's  knees  began  to  tremble, 


IN    THE   CRESCENT   CITY 


325 


and,  had  the  marquis'  eyesight  been  better,  he  could 
not  have  failed  to  detect  the  other's  agitation.     But 
the  valet  assumed  a  bold  front,  as  he  asked : 
4  "Why  should  I  have  stolen  it  ?" 

"True,  why?"  grumbled  the  marquis.  "It  would 
be  of  no  service  to  you.  No;  you  didn't  take  it.  I 
believe  you  honest — in  this  case !" 

"Thank  you,  my  lord!" 

"After  all,  what  does  it  matter?"  muttered  the  no- 
bleman to  himself.  "What's  in  a  good  name  to-day 
— with  traitors  within  and  traitors  without?  'Tis 
love's  labor  lost  to  have  protected  it!  We've  fos- 
tered a  military  nest  of  traitors.  The  scorpions  will 
be  faithful  to  nothing  but  their  own  ends.  They'll 
fight  for  any  master." 

Recalled  to  his  purpose  of  attending  the  play  by 
Francois'  bringing  from  the  wardrobe  sundry  articles 
of  attire,  the  marquis  underwent  an  elaborate  toilet, 
recovering  his  good  humor  as  this  complicated  opera- 
tion proceeded.  Indeed,  by  the  time  it  had  reached 
a  triumphant  end  and  the  valet  set  the  marquis  before 
a  mirror,  the  latter  had  forgotten  his  dissatisfaction 
at  the  government  in  his  pleasure  with  himself. 

"Too  much  excitement  is  dangerous,  is  it  ?"  he  mum- 
bled. "I  am  afraid  there  will  be  none  at  all.  A  stage- 
struck  young  woman ;  a  doll-like  face,  probably ;  a 
milk-and-water  performance!  Now,  in  the  old  days 
actors  were  artists.  Yes,  artists!"  he  repeated,  as 
though  he  had  struck  a  chord  that  vibrated  in  his  mem- 
ory. 


326  THE    STROLLERS 

Arriving  at  the  theater,  he  was  surprised  at  th~e 
scene  of  animation;  the  line  of  carriages;  the  crowd 
about  the  doors  and  in  the  entrance  hall!  Evidently 
the  city  eagerly  sought  novelty,  and  Barnes'  company, 
offering  new  diversion  after  many  weeks  of  opera, 
drew  a  fair  proportion  of  pleasure-seekers  to  the  por- 
tals of  the  drama.  The  noise  of  rattling  wheels  and 
the  banging  of  carriage  doors;  the  aspect  of  many 
fair  ladies,  irreproachably  gowned;  the  confusion  of 
voices  from  venders  hovering  near  the  gallery  en- 
trance— imparted  a  cosmopolitan  atmosphere  to  the 
surroundings. 

"You'd  think  some  well-known  player  was  going  to 
appear,  Francois!"  grumbled  the  marquis,  as  he 
thrust  his  head  out  of  his  carriage.  "Looks  like  a 
theater  off  the  Strand!  And  there's  an  orange-girl! 
A  dusky  Peggy !" 

The  vehicle  of  the  nobleman  drew  up  before  the 
brilliantly-lighted  entrance.  Mincingly,  the  marquis 
dismounted,  assisted  by  the  valet ;  within  he  was  met 
by  a  loge  director  who,  with  the  airs  of  a  Chesterfield, 
bowed  the  people  in  and  out. 

"Your  ticket,  sir!"  said  this  courteous  individual, 
scraping  unusually  low. 

The  marquis  waved  his  hand  toward  his  man,  and 
Frangois  produced  the  bits  of  pasteboard.  Escorted 
to  his  box,  the  nobleman  settled  himself  in  an  easy 
chair,  after  which  he  stared  impudently  and  inquisi- 
tively around  him. 

And  what  a  heterogeneous  assemblage  it  was ;  of 


IN   THE   CRESCENT   CITY       327 

how  many  nationalities  made  up;  gay  bachelors,  rep- 
resentatives of  the  western  trade  and  eastern  manu- 
facturers; a  fair  sprinkling  of  the  military  element, 
seeking  amusement  before  departing  for  the  front,  their 
orass  buttons  and  striking  new  uniforms  a  grim  re- 
minder of  the  conflict  waging  between  the  United 
States  and  Mexico;  cotton  brokers,  banking  agents, 
sugar,  tobacco  and  flour  dealers;  some  evidently  En- 
glish with  their  rosy  complexions,  and  others  French  by 
their  gesticulations !  And  among  the  women,  dash- 
ing belles  from  Saratoga,  proud  beauties  from  Louis- 
ville, "milliner-martyred"  daughters  of  interior  plan- 
ters, and  handsome  Creole  matrons,  in  black  gowns 
that  set  off  their  white  shoulders ! 

In  this  stately  assemblage — to  particularize  for  a 
moment! — was  seated  the  (erstwhile!)  saintly  Mad- 
ame Etalage,  still  proud  in  her  bearing,  although  white 
as  an  angel,  and  by  her  side,  her  carpet  knight,  an 
extravagant,  preposterous  fop.  A  few  seats  in  front 
of  her  prattled  the  lovely  ingenue,  little  Fantoccini,  a 
biting  libeller  of  other  actresses,  with  her  pitiless 
tongue.  To  her  left  was  a  shaggy-looking  gentleman, 
the  Addison  of  New  Orleans'  letters,  a  most  tolerant 
critic,  who  never  spoke  to  a  woman  if  he  could  avoid 
doing  so,  but  who,  from  his  philosophical  stool,  viewed 
the  sex  with  a  conviction  it  could  do  no  wrong;  a 
judgment  in  perspective,  as  it  were! 

The  marquis  paid  little  attention  to  the  men;  it 
was  the  feminine  portion  of  the  audience  that  inter- 
ested him,  and  he  regarded  it  with  a  gloating  leer,  the 


328  THE    STROLLERS 

expression  of  a  senile  satyr.  Albeit  a  little  on  the 
seamy  side  of  life,  his  rank  and  wealth  were  such 
that  he  himself  attracted  a  good  deal  of  attention, 
matronly  eyes  being  turned  in  his  direction  with  not 
unkindly  purport.  The  marquis  perceived  the  stir 
his  presence  occasioned  and  was  not  at  all  displeased ; 
on  the  contrary,  his  manner  denoted  gratification,  smil- 
ing and  smirking  from  bud  to  blossom  and  from  blos- 
som to  bud ! 

How  fascinating  it  was  to  revel  in  the  sight  of  so 
much  youth  and  beauty  from  the  brink  of  the  grave 
whereon  he  stood ;  how  young  it  made  him  feel  again ! 
He  rubbed  his  withered  hands  together  in  childish 
delight,  while  he  contemplated  the  lively  charms  of 
Fantoccini  or  devoted  himself  to  the  no  less  divert- 
ing scrutiny  of  certain  other  dark-haired  ladies. 

While  occupied  in  this  agreeable  pastime  the  noble- 
man became  dimly  conscious  the  debutante  had  ap- 
peared and  was  greeted  with  the  moderate  applause 
of  an  audience  that  is  reserving  its  opinion.  "Gad," 
said  one  of  the  dandies  who  was  keenly  observing  the 
nobleman,  "it's  fashionable  to  look  at  the  people  and 
not  at  the  actors!"  And  he  straightway  stared  at 
the  boxes,  assuming  a  lackadaisical,  languishing  air. 
Having  taken  note  of  his  surroundings  to  his  satisfac- 
tion, the  marquis  at  length  condescended  to  turn  his 
eye-glass  deliberately  and  quizzically  to  the  stage. 
His  sight  was  not  the  best,  and  he  gazed  for  some  time 
before  discerning  a  graceful  figure  and  a  pure,  oval 
face,  with  dark  hair  and  eyes. 


IN   THE   CRESCENT   CITY      329 

"Humph,  not  a  bad  stage  presence!"  he  thought. 
"Probably  plenty  of  beauty,  with  a  paucity  of  talent ! 
That's  the  way  nowadays.  The  voice — why,  where 
have  I  heard  it  before?  A  beautiful  voice!  What 
melody,  what  power,  what  richness !  And  the  face — " 
Here  he  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  glasses — "if 
the  face  is  equal  to  the  voice,  she  has  an  unusual  com- 
bination in  an  artist." 

Again  he  elevated  the  glass.  Suddenly  his  attenu- 
ated frame  straightened,  his  hand  shook  violently  and 
the  glasses  fell  from  his  nerveless  fingers. 

"Impossible!"  he  murmured.  But  the  melody  of 
those  tones  continued  to  fall  upon  his  ears  like  a  voice 
from  the  past. 

When  the  curtain  went  down  on  the  first  act  there 
was  a  storm  of  applause.  In  New  Orlean's  nothing 
was  done  by  halves,  and  Constance,  as  Adrienne  Le- 
couvreur,  radiant  in  youth  and  the  knowledge  of  suc- 
cess, was  called  out  several  times.  The  Creoles  made 
a  vigorous  demonstration;  the  Americans  were  as 
pleased  in  their  less  impulsive  way ;  and  in  the  loges 
all  the  lattices  were  pushed  up,  "a  compliment  to  any 
player,"  said  Straws.  To  the  marquis,  the  ladies 
in  the  loges  were  only  reminiscent  of  the  fashionable 
dames,  with  bare  shoulders  and  glittering  jewels,  in 
the  side  boxes  of  old  Drury  Lane,  leaning  from  their 
high  tribunals  to  applaud  the  Adrienne  of  twenty  years 
ago! 

He  did  not  sit  in  a  theater  in  New  Orleans  now,  but 
in  London  town,  with  a  woman  by  his  side  who  bent 


330  THE    STROLLERS 

beneath  the  storm  of  words  she  knew  were  directed 
at  her.  As  in  a  dream  he  lingered,  plunged  in 
thought,  with  no  longer  the  cynical,  carping  expres- 
sion on  his  face  as  he  looked  at  the  stage,  but  awed 
and  wonder-sticken,  transported  to  another  scene 
through  the  lapse  of  years  that  folded  their  shadowy 
wings  and  made  the  past  to-day.  Two  vivid  pictures 
floated  before  him  as  though  they  belonged  to  the 
present :  Adrienne,  bright,  smiling  and  happy,  as  she 
rushed  into  the  green  room,  with  the  plaudits  of  the 
multitude  heard  outside;  Adrienne,  in  her  last  mo- 
ments, betrayed  to  death ! 

They  were  applauding  now,  or  was  it  but  the  mock- 
ing echo  of  the  past?  The  curtain  had  descended, 
but  went  up  again,  and  the  actress  stood  with  flowers 
showered  around  her.  Save  that  she  was  in  the  spring- 
time of  life,  while  the  other  had  entered  summer's 
season;  that  her  art  was  tender  and  romantic,  rather 
than  overwhelming  and  tragic,  she  was  the  counter- 
part of  the  actress  he  had  deserted  in  London ;  a 
faithful  prototype,  bearing  the  mother's  eyes,  brow  and 
features ;  a  moving,  living  picture  of  the  dead,  as 
though  the  grave  had  rolled  back  its  stone  and  she 
had  stepped  forth,  young  once  more,  trusting  and- in- 
nocent. 

The  musical  bell  rang  in  the  wine  room,  where  the 
worshipers  of  Bacchus  were  assembled,  the  signal 
that  the  drop  would  rise  again  in  five  minutes.  At 
the  bar  the  imbibers  were  passing  judgment. 


IN   THE   CRESCENT   CITY 


331 


"What  elegance,  deah  boy!  But  cold — give  me 
Fantoccini !"  cried  the  carpet  knight. 

"Fantoccini's  a  doll  to  her!"  retorted  the  worldly 
young  spark  addressed. 

"A  wicked  French  doll,  then!  What  do  you 
think  ?"  Turning  to  the  local  Addison. 

"Sir,  she  'snatches  a  grace  beyond  the  reach  of 
art' !"  replied  that  worthy. 

"You  ask  for  a  criticism,  and  he  answers  in  poetry !" 
retorted  the  first  speaker. 

"Tis  only  the  expression  of  the  audience!"  inter- 
posed another  voice. 

"Oh,  of  course,  Mr.  Mauville,  if  you,  too,  take  her 
part,  that  is  the  end  of  it !" 

The  land  baron's  smile  revealed  withering  contempt, 
as  with  eyes  bright  with  suppressed  excitement,  and 
his  face  unusually  sallow,  he  joined  the  group. 

"The  end  of  it !"  he  repeated,  fixing  his  glance  upon 
the  captious  dandy.  "The  beginning,  you  mean !  The 
beginning  of  her  triumphs !" 

"Oh,  have  your  own  way!"  answered  the  discon- 
certed critic. 

Mauville  deliberately  turned  his  back.  "And  such 
dunces  sit  in  judgment!"  he  muttered  to  the  scholar. 

"Curse  me,  Mauville's  in  a  temper  to-night!"  said 
the  spark  in  a  low  voice.  "Been  drinking,  I  reckon! 
But  it's  time  for  the  next  act !" 

Punches  and  juleps  were  hastily  disposed  of,  and  the 
imbibers  quickly  sought  their  places.  This  sudden 
influx,  with  its  accompanying  laughter  and  chattering, 


332  THE    STROLLERS 

aroused  the  marquis  from  "his  lethargy.  He  started 
and  looked  around  him  in  bewilderment.  The  noise 
and  the  light  conversation,  however,  soon  recalled  his 
mind  to  a  sense  of  his  surroundings,  and  he  en- 
deavored to  recover  his  self-possession. 

Could  it  be  possible  it  was  but  a  likeness  his  imagina- 
tion had  converted  into  such  vivid  resemblance?  A 
sudden  thought  seized  him  and  he  looked  around 
toward  the  door  of  the  box. 

"Francois !"  he  called,  and  the  valet,  who  had  been 
waiting  his  master's  pleasure  without,  immediately 
appeared. 

"Sit  down,  Francois!"  commanded  the  marquis. 
"I  am  not  feeling  well.  I  may  conclude  to  leave  soon, 
and  may  need  your  arm." 

The  servant  obeyed,  and  the  nobleman,  under  pre- 
tense of  rinding  more  air  near  the  door,  drew  back  his 
chair,  where  he  could  furtively  watch  his  man's  face. 
The  orchestra  ceased;  the  curtain  rose,  and  the  valet 
gazed  mechanically  at  the  stage.  In  his  way,  Francois 
was  as  blase  as  his  master,  only,  of  course,  he  under- 
stood his  position  too  well  to  reveal  that  lassitude  and 
ennui,  the  expression  of  which  was  the  particular  priv- 
ilege of  his  betters.  He  had  seen  many  great  actresses 
and  heard  many  peerless  singers ;  he  had  delved  after 
his  fashion  into  sundry  problems,  and  had  earned  as 
great  a  right  as  any  of  the  nobility  to  satiety  and  de- 
fatigation  in  his  old  age,  but  unfortunately  he  was 
born  in  a  class  which  may  feel  but  not  reveal,  and  mask 
alike  content  and  discontent. 


IN   THE   CRESCENT   CITY 


333 


Again  those  tones  floated  out  from  the  past;  mu- 
sical, soft !  The  marquis  trembled.  Did  not  the  man 
notice  ?  No ;  he  was  still  looking  gravely  before  him. 
Dolt ;  did  he  not  remember  ?  Could  he  not  recall  the 
times  beyond  number  when  he  had  heard  that  voice ;  in 
the  ivy-covered  cottage;  in  the  garden  of  English 
roses  ? 

Suddenly  the  valet  uttered  an  exclamation ;  the  stolid 
aspect  of  his  face  gave  way  to  an  obvious  thrill  of  in- 
terest. 

"My  lord  P  he  cried. 

"An  excellent  actress,  Frangois;  an  excellent  ac- 
tress !"  said  the  marquis,  rising.  "Is  that  my  coat  ? 
Get  it  for  me.  What  are  you  standing  there  for? 
Your  arm !  Don't  you  see  I  am  waiting  ?" 

Overwrought  and  excitable,  he  did  not  dare  remain 
for  the  latter  portion  of  the  drama ;  better  leave  before 
the  last  act,  he  told  himself,  and,  dazed  by  the  reap- 
pearance of  that  vision,  the  old  man  fairly  staggered 
from  the  box. 

The  curtain  fell  for  the  last  time,  and  Barnes,  with 
exultation,  stood  watching  in  the  wings.  She  had 
triumphed,  his  little  girl ;  she  had  won  the  great,  gen- 
erous heart  of  New  Orleans.  He  clapped  his  hands 
furiously,  joining  in  the  evidences  of  approval,  and, 
when  the  ovation  finally  ceased  and  she  approached, 
the  old  manager  was  so  overcome  he  had  not  a  word 
to  say.  She  looked  at  him  questioningly,  and  he  who 
had  always  been  her  instructor  folded  her  fondly  to 
his  breast. 


334  THE    STROLLERS 

"I  owe  it  all  to  you,"  she  whispered. 

"Pooh!"  he  answered.  "You  stole  fire  from 
heaven.  I  am  but  a  theatrical,  bombastic,  barn- 
storming Thespian." 

"Would  you  spoil  me?"  she  interrupted,  tenderly. 

"You  are  your  mother  over  again,  my  dear !  If  she 
were  only  here  now!  But  where  is  Saint-Prosper? 
He  has  not  yet  congratulated  you?  He,  our  good 
genius,  whose  generosity  has  made  all  this  possible !" 
And  Barnes  half-turned,  when  she  placed  a  detaining 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"No,  no!" 

"Why,  my  dear,  have  you  and  he — " 

"Is  it  not  enough  that  you  are  pleased?"  replied 
Constance,  hastily,  with  a  glance  so  shining  he  forgot 
all  further  remonstrances. 

"Pleased !"  exclaimed  Barnes.  "Why,  I  feel  as  gay 
as  Momus !  But  we'll  sing  Te  Deum  later  at  the 
festive  board.  Go  now  and  get  ready  1" 


CHAP  T  E  R    X 

LAUGHTER     AND     TEARS 

A  supper  was  given  the  company  after  the  per- 
formance by  the  manager,  to  which  representatives 
of  the  press — artful  Barnes! — had  been  invited. 
Of  all  the  merry  evenings  in  the  bohemian  world,  that 
was  one  of  the  merriest.  Next  to  the  young  girl  sat 
the  Count  de  Propriac,  his  breast  covered  with  a  dou- 
ble row  of  medals.  Of  the  toasts  drunk  to  Constance, 
the  manager,  poets  Straws  and  Phazma,  etc.,  un- 
fortunately no  record  remains.  Of  the  recollections 
of  the  wiry  old  lady;  the  impromptu  verse  of  the 
rhymsters;  the  roaring  speech  of  Mr.  Barnes;  the 
song  and  dainty  flower  dance  by  Susan  and  Kate — 
only  the  bare  facts  have  descended  to  the  chronicler. 

So  fancy  must  picture  the  wreaths  of  smoke;  the 
superabundance  of  flowers,  the  fragrance  of  cigars 
mingling  with  the  perfume  of  fading  floral  beauties; 
the  pale  dark-eyed  girl  presiding,  upon  her  dusky  hair 
a  crown  of  laurel,  set  there,  despite  her  protestations, 
by  Phazma  and  Straws ;  the  devotion  of  the  count  to 
his  fair  neighbor;  the  almost  superhuman  pride  of 
.(335) 


336  THE    STROLLERS 

noisy  Barnes;  the  attention  bestowed  by  Susan  upon 
Saint-Prosper,  while  through  his  mind  wandered  the 
words  of  a  French  song: 

"Adieu,  la  cour,  adieu  les  dames; 
Adieu  les  filles  et  les  feinmes — " 

Intermixed  with  this  sad  refrain  the  soldier's 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  performance,  and  amidst  the 
chatter  of  Susan,  he  reviewed  again  and  again  the  de- 
tails of  that  evening.  Was  this  the  young  girl  who 
played  in  school-houses,  inns  or  town  halls,  he  had 
asked  himself,  seated  in  the  rear  of  the  theater  ?  How 
coldly  critical  had  been  her  auditors ;  some  of  the 
faces  about  him  ironical ;  the  bored,  tired  faces  of  men 
who  had  well-nigh  drained  life's  novelties;  the  arti- 
ficially vivacious  faces  of  women  who  played  at  light- 
heartedness  and  gaiety!  Yet  how  free  from  concern 
had  she  been,  as  natural  and  composed  as  though  her 
future  had  not  depended  upon  that  night !  When  she 
won  an  ovation,  he  had  himself  forgotten  to  applaud, 
but  had  sat  there,  looking  from  her  to  the  auditors, 
to  whom  she  was  now  bound  by  ties  of  admiration 
and  friendliness. 

"Don't  you  like  her  ?"  a  voice  next  to  him  had  asked. 

Like  her  ?     He  had  looked  at  the  man,  blankly. 

"Yes,"  he  had  replied. 

Then  the  past  had  seemed  to  roll  between  them :  the 
burning  sands;  the  voices  of  the  troops;  the  bugle 
call !  In  his  brain  wild  thoughts  had  surged  and 
flowed — as  they  were  surging  and  flowing  now. 


LAUGHTER   AND   TEARS        337 

"Is  he  not  handsome,  Constance's  new  admirer?" 
whispered  Susan.  "What  can  he  be  saying?  She 
looks  so  pleased!  He  is  very  rich,  isn't  he?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Saint-Prosper,  brusquely. 

Again  the  thoughts  surged  and  surged,  and  the  past 
intruded  itself !  Reaching  for  his  glass,  he  drank 
quickly. 

"Don't  you  ever  feel  the  effects  of  wine?"  asked  the 
young  woman. 

His  glance  chilled  her,  it  seemed  so  strange  and 
steely ! 

"I  believe  you  are  so — so  strong  you  don't  even  no- 
tice it,"  added  Susan,  with  conviction.  "But  you 
don't  have  half  as  good  a  time !" 

"Perhaps  I  enjoy  myself  in  my  way,"  he  answered. 

"What  is  your  way  ?"  she  asked  quickly.  "You  don't 
appear  to  be  wildly  hilarious  in  your  pleasures."  And 
Susan's  bright  eyes  rested  on  him  curiously.  "But 
we  were  speaking  about  the  count  and  Constance. 
Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  good  match?"  she 
continued  with  enthusiasm.  "Alas,  my  titled  admirer 
got  no  further  than  the  beginning.  But  men  are 
deceivers  ever!  When  they  do  reach  the  Songs  of 
Solomon,  they  pass  on  to  Exodus !" 

"And  leave  the  fair  ones  to  Lamentations,"  said 
Straws,  who  had  caught  her  last  remarks. 

"Or  Revelations !"  added  Phazma. 

At  the  sound  of  their  laughter,  Constance  looked 
coldly  their  way,  until  a  remark  from  the  count  at  her 
right,  and,  "As  I  was  saying,  my  dear,"  from  the  old 


338  THE    STROLLERS 

lady  at  her  left,  engrossed  the  young  girl's  attention 
once  more.  But  finally  the  great  enemy  of  joy — the 
grim  guardian  of  human  pleasure — the  reaper  whose 
iron  hands  move  ever  in  a  circle,  symbolical  of  eternity 
— finally,  Time  reminded  Barnes  that  the  hour  had 
surely  arrived  when  the  curtain  should  descend  upon 
these  festivities.  So  he  roared  out  a  last  blithe  fare- 
well, and  the  guests  departed  one  by  one,  taking  with 
them  flowers  in  memory  of  the  occasion,  until  all  had 
left  save  Constance,  the  count,  Saint- Prosper  and  the 
manager.  Barnes  was  talking  somewhat  incoherently, 
holding  the  soldier  by  the  coat  and  plunging  into  suc- 
cessive anecdotes  about  stage  folk,  while  Saint-Pros- 
per, apparently  listening,  observed  the  diplomat  and 
Constance,  whose  conversation  he  could  overhear. 

"As  I  said  to  the  Royal  Infanta  of  Spain,  flattery 
flies  before  truth  in  your  presence,  Mademoiselle," 
sighed  the  count.  And  then  raising  her  hand  to  his 
lips,  "Ah,  ma  chere  Mademoiselle,  que  je  vous  adore!" 
he  whispered. 

She  withdrew  it  hastily,  and,  ogling  and  gesticulat- 
ing, he  bowed  himself  out,  followed  by  the  manager. 

Leaning  against  the  chair,  her  figure  outlined  by 
the  glow  from  the  crystal  chandelier,  her  face  in 
shadow,  the  hand  the  diplomat  had  pressed  to  his  lips, 
resting  in  the  exposed  light  on  the  mahogany,  the 
gaiety  went  out  of  her  face,  and  the  young  girl  wearily 
brushed  the  hair  from  her  brow.  As  if  unaware  of 
the  soldier's  presence,  she  glanced  absently  at  the  table 


LAUGHTER   AND    TEARS        339 

in  its  wrecked  glory,  and,  throwing  her  lace  wrap  over 
her  arm,  was  moving  toward  the  door,  when  he  spoke. 

"Miss  Carew!" 

She  paused,  standing  with  clasped  hands  before 
him,  while  the  scarf  slipped  from  her  arm  and  fell  at 
her  feet. 

"May  I  not  also  tell  you  how  glad  I  am — that  you 
succeeded  to-night?" 

"I  dislike  congratulations !"  she  said,  indifferently. 

He  looked  at  her  quickly,  but  her  eyes  expressed 
only  apathy.  In  his  a  sudden  gleam  of  light  appeared. 

"From  me,  you  mean  ?"     The  light  became  brighter. 

She  did  not  answer.  His  self-control  was  fast 
ebbing. 

"You  underestimate  your  favors,  if  you  fancy  they 
are  easily  forgotten  I" 

A  crimson  flush  extended  to  her  brow;  the  uncon- 
cern died  out  of  her  eyes. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  she  answered,  slowly. 

"When  a  woman  says  .'I  do  not  understand,'  she 
means  'I  wish  to  forget'." 

Her  wide-open  glance  flashed  ominously  to  his; 
she  clasped  and  unclasped  her  fingers. 

"Forget  what?"  she  said,  coldly. 

"Nameless  nothings!"  he  returned.  "A  smile — a 
glance — nothing  to  you,  perhaps,  but" — the  set  expres- 
sion of  his  face  giving  way  to  abrupt  passion ! — "every- 
thing to  me!  Perhaps  I  had  not  meant  to  say  this, 
but  it  seems  as  though  the  words  must  come  out  to- 


340  THE   STROLLERS 

night.  It  may  be" — his  voice  vibrating  with  strange 
earnestness — "for  once  I  want  to  be  myself.  For 
weeks  we  have  been — friends — and  then  suddenly 
you  begin  to  treat  me — how?  As  though  I  no  longer 
existed!  Why  did  you  deceive  me — let  me  drift  on? 
Because  I  was  mute,  did  you  think  I  was  blind  ?  Why 
did  I  join  the  strollers — the  land  baron  accused  me  of 
following  you  across  the  country.  He  was  right;  I 
was  following  you.  I  would  not  confess  it  to  my- 
self before.  But  I  confess  it  now!  It  was  a  fool's 
paradise,"  he  ended,  bitterly. 

She  shrank  back  before  his  vehement  words ;  some- 
thing within  her  appeared  violated;  as  though  his 
plea  had  penetrated  the  sanctity  of  her  reserve. 

"Would  it  not  be  well  to  say  nothing  about  decep- 
tion?" she  replied,  and  her  dark  eyes  swept  his  face. 
Then,  turning  from  him  abruptly,  she  stepped  to  the 
window,  and,  drawing  aside  the  lace  curtains  mechan- 
ically, looked  out. 

The  city  below  was  yet  teeming  with  life,  lights 
gleaming  everywhere  and  shadowy  figures  passing. 
Suddenly  out  of  the  darkness  came  a  company  of 
soldiers  who  had  just  landed,  marching  through  the 
streets  toward  the  camping  ground  and  singing  as 
they  went. 

The  chorus,  like  a  mighty  breath  of  patriotism, 
filled  her  heart  to  overflowing.  It  seemed  as  though 
she  had  heard  it  for  the  first  time;  had  never  before 
felt  its  potency.  All  the  tragedy  of  war  swept  before 


LAUGHTER   AND    TEARS        341 

her;  all  that  inspiring,  strange  affection  for  country, 
kith  and  kin,  suddenly  exalted  her. 

Above  the  tramping  of  feet,  the  melody  rose  and  fell 
on  the  distant  air,  dying  away  as  the  figures  vanished 
in  the  gloom.  With  its  love  of  native  land,  its  expres- 
sion of  the  unity  of  comradeship  and  ties  stronger  than 
death,  the  song  appeared  to  challenge  an  answer; 
and,  when  the  music  ceased,  and  only  the  drum-beats 
still  seemed  to  make  themselves  heard,  she  raised  her 
head  without  moving  from  her  position  and  looked 
at  him  to  see  if  he  understood.  But  though  she 
glanced  at  him,  she  hardly  saw  him.  In*  her  mind 
was  another  picture — the  betrayed  garrison;  the  sol- 
diers slain! — and  the  horror  of  it  threw  such  a  film 
over  her  gaze  that  he  became  as  a  figure  in  some  dis- 
tressing dream. 

An  inkling  of  her  meaning — the  mute  questioning 
of  her  eyes — the  dread  evoked  by  that  revolting 
vision  of  the  past — were  reflected  in  his  glance. 

"Deceived  you?"  he  began,  and  his  voice,  to  her, 
sounded  as  from  afar.  "How — what — " 

"Must  it  be — could  it  be  put  into  words  ?" 

The  deepest  shadows  dwelt  in  her  eyes ;  shadows  he 
could  not  penetrate,  although  he  still  doggedly,  yet 
apprehensively,  regarded  her!  Watching  her,  his 
brow  grew  darker. 

"Why  not  ?"  he  continued,  stubbornly. 

Why?  The  dimness  that  had  obscured  her  vision 
lifted.  Now  she  saw  him  very  plainly,  indeed;  tall 


342  THE    STROLLERS 

and  powerful ;  his  face,  harsh,  intense,  as  though  by 
the  vigor  of  physical  and  mental  force  he  would  over- 
ride any  charge  or  imputation. 

Why  ?  She  drew  herself  up,  as  he  quickly  searched 
her  eyes,  bright  with  the  passions  that  stirred  her 
breast. 

"You  told  me  part  of  your  story  that  day  in  the 
property  wagon,"  she  began,  repugnance,  scorn  and 
anger  all  mingling  in  her  tones.  "Why  did  you  not 
tell  me  the  rest?" 

His  glance,  too,  flashed.  Would  he  still  profess 
not  to  understand  her?  His  lips  parted;  he  spoke 
with  an  effort. 

"The  rest?"  he  said,  his  brow  lowering. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quickly;  "the  stain  upon  your 
name! — the  garrison  sold! — the  soldiers  killed! — 
murdered ! — " 

She  had  turned  to  him  swiftly,  fiercely,  with  her  last 
words,  but  before  the  look  of  sudden  shame  and  dread 
on  his  face,  her  eyes  abruptly  fell  as  though  a  portion 
of  his  dishonor  had  inexplicably  touched  her.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  defend  himself — motionless  he 
stood  an  instant — then,  without  a  word,  he  moved 
away.  At  the  threshold  he  paused,  but  she  did  not 
look  up — could  not !  A  moment ;  an  eternity ! 

"Why  don't  you  go?"  she  cried.  "Why  don't  you 
go?" 

The  door  opened,  closed ;  sKe  was  alone. 

Pale  as  the  dying  lilies  on  the  table,  she  stepped 
toward  the  threshold,  when  Barnes,  chipper  and  still 


LAUGHTER   AND    TEARS        343 

indefatigable,  entered  by  another  door.  He  was  too 
inspired  with  festal  intoxication  to  observe  her  agita- 
tion. 

"What,  my  dear!"  he  exclaimed  cheerily.  "Has 
he  gone?  Did  you  make  up  your  little  differences? 
Did  you  settle  your  quarrel  before  he  leaves  for  Mex- 
ico?" 

"For  Mexico !"  she  repeated,  mechanically. 

"Of  course.  He  has  his  commission  in  the  army 
and  leaves  early  in  the  morning.  But  you  look  tired, 
my  dear.  I  declare  you  are  quite  pale" — pinching  her 
cheek — "rest  will  bring  back  the  roses,  though." 

Impulsively  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Why,  why,  what's  this  ?"  he  said,  patting  her  head. 

"I  only  care  for  you,"  she  whispered.  "My  dear! 
My  dear !" 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  FINE  GENTLEMAN 

"  'Perhaps  she  will  fail,  and  that  will  amuse  me,'  " 
ruminated  Francois  on  his  high  seat  next  to  the  coach- 
man, repeating  the  marquis'  words,  as  they  drove 
home  after  the  nobleman's  precipitous  retreat  from 
the  theater.  "Well,  he  didn't  look  as  though  he  had 
been  particularly  amused.  But  no  wonder  he  was 
startled !  It  even" — reviewing  the  impression  first 
made  upon  him  at  sight  of  the  actress — "sent  a  shiver 
through  me!"  Here  the  carriage  drew  up  sharp'y 
before  the  marquis'  home,  and  Frangois,  hastily 
alighting,  threw  open  the  door. 

"Eh?  What?  Are  we  here?"  muttered  the  mar- 
quis, starting  from  the  corner  where  he  had  been  re- 
clining. 

He  arose  with  some  difficulty;  traversed  the  side- 
walk and  the  shell-strewn  path  to  the  house  which 
loomed  darkly  before  them;  paused  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  where  he  breathed  heavily,  complaining  of  the 
oppressiveness  of  the  air;  and  finally,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  valet,  found  himself  once  more  in  his 
(344) 


A   FINE   GENTLEMAN  345 

room,  the  sick  chamber  he  had  grown  to  detest! 
Here  alone — having  dismissed  the  servant  as  soon  as 
possible — he  moved  restlessly  to  and  fro,  pondering 
deeply.  Since  the  moment  when  he  had  seen  and 
recognized  his  daughter,  all  the  buoyancy  which  had 
given  his  wasted  figure  a  sort  of  galvanic  vitality 
seemed  to  vanish.  It  was  like  the  exhaustion  of  a 
battery,  the  collapse  of  the  sustaining  power. 

"That  resemblance  can  not  be  coincidence!"  he 
thought.  "Oh,  errors  of  the  past,  you  come  home  in 
our  old  age  when  the  limbs  are  faltering  and  life  is 
failing!" 

Going  to  the  secretaire,  he  took  out  •  a  box  that 
had  not  been  opened  in  years,  and,  with  trembling 
fingers,  turned  over  many  papers.  He  shivered,  and, 
thinking  it  was  cold,  stirred  the  fire.  Returning  to 
the  secretary,  he  took  from  the  box  a  package 
tied  with  a  ribbon  still,  after  the  lapse  of  these 
many  years,  slightly  fragrant,  and  he  breathed  that 
perfume,  so  faint,  so  subtle,  while  recollections  smote 
him  like  a  knife. 

Its  scent  was  familiar  to  him;  it  seemed  to  bring 
life  to  the  dead,  and  for  the  moment  in  his  mind's 
eye  he  saw  her  glowing  figure,  the  love  of  his  youth, 
with  flashing,  revengeful  eyes  and  noble  mein.  He 
cowered  over  the  desk,  as  if  shrinking  from  an  aveng- 
ing spirit,  while  the  perfume,  like  opium,  filled  his 
brain  with  strange  fantasies.  He  strove  to  drown  re^ 
membrance,  but  some  force— it  seemed  not  his  own  !— 
drove  him  irresistibly  to  untie  that  ribbon,  to  scrutin- 


346  THE    STROLLERS 

ize  many  old  theater  programs  and  to  gaze  upon  a 
miniature  in  ivory  depicting  a  woman  in  the  loveli- 
ness of  her  charms,  but  whose  striking  likeness  to 
the  young  actress  he  had  just  seen  filled  his  heart 
with  strange  fear.  Some  power — surely  it  could  not 
have  been  his  will  which  rebelled  strenuously ! — im- 
pelled him  to  open  those  letters  and  to  read  them 
word  for  word.  The  tenderness  of  the  epistles  fell 
on  his  heart  as  though  to  scorch  it,  and  he  quivered 
like  a  guilty  wretch.  His  eyes  were  fascinated  by 
these  words  in  her  last  letter :  "Should  you  desert 
me  and  your  unborn  child,  your  end  will  be  miserable. 
As  I  believe  in  retribution,  I  am  sure  you  will  reap  as 
you  have  sown." 

Suddenly  the  reader  in  a  frenzy  threw  the  letter  to 
the  floor  and  trampled  on  it.  He  regarded  the  face 
in  the  miniature  with  fear  and  hatred,  and  dashing  it 
into  the  drawer,  called  down  maledictions  on  her. 
He  ceased  abruptly,  weak  and  wavering. 

"I  am  going  insane,"  he  said,  laughing  harshly. 
"Fool !  To  let  that  woman's  memory  disturb  me. 
So  much  for  her  dire  prophecy!"  And  he  snapped 
his  fingers  and  dropped  the  letter  in  the  fire. 

"What  can  her  curse  avail?"  he  said  aloud.  "She 
is  gone,  turned  to  ashes  like  that  paper  and  there  is 
no  life  after  this  one.  All  then  is  nothing — emptiness 
— a  blank!  I  need  rest.  It  is  this  cursed  dyspepsia 
which  has  made  me  nervous.  Something  to  compose 
me,  and  then  to  bed!" 


A   FINE   GENTLEMAN  347 

In  spite  of  soothing  powders,  however,  he  passed 
a  restless  night  and  arose  unrefreshed,  but  ordered 
his  valet  to  bring  one  of  his  lightest  suits,  and,  hav- 
ing dressed,  he  set  a  white  flower  upon  his  coat,  while 
the  servant  proceeded  to  apply  various  pigments  to 
the  wrinkled  face,  until  it  took  on  a  mocking  sem- 
blance to  the  countenance  of  a  man  fifteen  years 
younger.  The  marquis  leered  at  himself  in  the  pier- 
glass  and  assumed  a  jauntiness  of  demeanor  he  was 
far  from  feeling. 

"I  do  not  look  tired  or  worried,  Frangois?" 

"Not  at  all,  my  lord,"  replied  the  obsequious  valet. 
"I  never  saw  you,  my  lord,  appear  so  young  and  well." 

"Beneath  the  surface,  Frangois,  there  is  age  and 
weakness,"  answered  the  marquis  in  a  melancholy 
tone. 

"It  is  but  a  passing  indisposition,  my  lord,"  asserted 
the  servant,  soothingly. 

"Perhaps.  But,  Frangois" — peering  around — "as 
I  look  over  my  shoulder,  do  you  -know  what  I  see  ?" 

The  almost  hideous  expression  of  the  roue's  face 
alarmed  the  servant. 

"No,  my  lord,  what  is  it?" 

"A  figure  stands  there  in  black  and  is  touching  me. 
It  is  the  spirit  of  death,  Frangois.  You  can  not  see 
it,  but  there  it  is — " 

"My  lord,  you  speak  wildly." 

"I  have  seen  some  strange  things,  Frangois.  The 
dead  have  arisen.  And  I  have  received  my  warning. 


348  THE    STROLLERS 

Soon  I  shall  join  those  dark  specters  which  once  gaily 
traversed  this  bright  world.  A  little  brandy  and  soda, 
Francois." 

The  servant  brought  it  to  him.  The  marquis  leered 
awfully  over  his  shoulder  once  more.  "Your  health, 
my  guest!"  he  exclaimed,  laughing  harshly.  "But 
my  hat,  Francois ;  I  have  business  to  perform,  impor- 
tant business !" 

He  ambled  out  of  the  room.  On  the  street  he 
was  all  politeness,  removing  his  hat  to  a  dark  bru- 
nette who  rolled  by  in  her  carriage,  and  pausing  to 
chat  with  another  representative  of  the  sex  of  the 
blond  type.  Then  he  gaily  sauntered  on,  until  reach- 
ing the  theater  he  stopped  and  made  a  number  of  in- 
quiries. Who  was  the  manager  of  Constance  Carew  ? 
Where  was  he  to  be  found?  "At  the  St.  Charles 
hotel?"  He  was  obliged  to  Monsieur,  the  ticket- 
seller,  and  wished  him  good-day. 

Entering  the  hotel,  he  sent  his  card  to  Barnes,  re- 
questing an  interview,  and  the  manager,  overcome 
by  the  honor  of  such  a  visit,  responded  with  alacrity. 
The  customary  formalities  over,  the  nobleman  con- 
gratulated Barnes  on  the  performance  and  led  the 
conversation  to  the  young  actress. 

"Pardon  my  curiosity,"  he  said,  with  apparent  care- 
lessness, "but  I'm  sure  I  remember  an  actress  of  the 
same  name  in  London — many  years  ago?" 

"Her  mother,  undoubtedly,"  replied  the  manager, 
proudly. 

"She  was  married,  was  she  not,  to — " 


A   FINE   GENTLEMAN 


349 


"A  scoundrel  who  took  her  for  his  wife  in  one 
church  and  repudiated  the  ties  through  another  de- 
nomination !" 

"Ah,  a  French-English  marriage!"  said  the  mar- 
quis, blandly.  "An  old  device!  But  what  was  this 
lover's  name?" 

"This  husband's,  my  lord!" 

"Lover  or  husband,  I  fancy  it  is  all  the  same  to  her 
now,"  sneered  the  caller.  "She  has  passed  the  point 
where  reputation  matters." 

"Her  reputation  is  my  concern,  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis !" 

"You  knew  her?"  asked  the  nobleman,  as  though 
the  conversation  wearied  him.  "And  she  was  faith- 
ful to  his  memory  ?  No  scandals — none  of  those  little 
affairs  women  of  her  class  are  prone  to?  There" — 
as  Barnes  started  up  indignantly — "spare  me  your 
reproaches!  I'm  too  feeble  to  quarrel.  Besides,  what 
is  it  to  me?  I  was  only  curious  about  her — that  is 
all !  But  she  never  spoke  the  name  of  her  husband  ?" 

"Not  even  to  her  own  child !" 

"She  does  not  know  her  father's  name?"  repeated 
the  marquis.  "But  I  thank  you;  Mademoiselle  Con- 
stance is  so  charming  I  must  needs  call  to  ask  if  she 
were  related  to  the  London  actress !  Good-day,  Mon- 
sieur! You  are  severe  on  the  lover.  Was  it  not  the 
fashion  of  the  day  for  the  actresses  to  take  lovers,  or 
for  the  fops  to  have  an  opera  girl  or  a  comedienne? 
Did  your  most  popular  performers  disdain  such  diver- 
sions?" he  sneered.  "Pardie,  the  world  has  suddenly 


350  THE    STROLLERS 

become  moral !  A  gentleman  can  no  longer,  it  would 
seem,  indulge  in  gentlemanly  follies." 

Mumbling  about  the  decadence  of  fashion,  the  mar- 
quis departed,  his  manner  so  strange  the  manager 
gazed  after  him  in  surprise. 

With  no  thought  of  direction,  his  lips  moving,  talk- 
ing to  himself  in  adynamic  fashion,  the  nobleman 
walked  mechanically  on  until  he  reached  the  great 
cathedral.  The  organ  was  rolling  and  voices  arose 
sweet  as  those  of  seraphim.  He  hesitated  at  the  portal 
and  then  laughed  to  himself.  "Well  has  Voltaire 
said :  'Pleasure  has  its  time ;  so,  too,  has  wisdom. 
Make  love  in  thy  youth,  and  in  old  age,  attend  to  thy 
salvation.'  "  He  repeated  the  latter  words,  but,  al- 
though he  paused  at  the  threshold  and  listened,  he 
did  not  enter. 

As  he  stood  there,  uncertain  and  trembling,  a  figure 
replete  with  youth  and  vigor  approached,  and,  glanc- 
ing at  her,  an  exclamation  escaped  him  that  caused  her 
to  pause  and  turn. 

"You  are  not  well,"  she  said,  solicitously.  "Can 
I  help  you?" 

"It  is  nothing,  nothing!"  answered  the  marquis, 
ashy  pale  at  the  sight  of  her  and  the  proximity  of  that 
face  which  regarded  him  with  womanly  sympathy. 
"Go  away." 

"At  least,  let  me  assist  you.  You  were  going  to 
the  cathedral?  Come!" 

His  hand  rested  upon  her  strong  young  arm ;  he  felt 
himself  too  weak  to  resist,  so,  together — father  and 


A   FINE   GENTLEMAN  351 

daughter! — they  entered  the  cathedral.  Side  by  side 
they  knelt — he  to  keep  up  the  farce,  fearing  to  un- 
deceive her — while  yet  only  mocking  words  came  to 
the  old  man's  heart,  as  the  bitterness  of  the  situation 
overwhelmed  him.  She  was  a  daughter  in  whom  a 
prince  might  have  found  pride,  but  he  remained  there 
mute,  not  daring  to  speak,  experiencing  all  the  tor- 
tures of  remorse  and  retribution.  Of  what  avail  had 
been  ambition?  How  had  it  overleaped  content  and 
ease  of  mind !  Into  what  a  nest  of  stings  and  thorns 
his  loveless  marriage  had  plunged  him !  And  now 
but  the  black  shadow  remained ;  he  walked  in  the  dark- 
ness of  unending  isolation.  So  he  should  continue 
to  walk  straight  to  the  door  of  death. 

He  scarcely  heard  the  organ  or  the  voice  of  the 
priest.  The  high  altar,  with  its  many  symbols,  sug- 
gested the  thousands  that  had  worshiped  there  and 
gone  away  comforted.  Here  was  abundant  testimony 
of  the  blessings  of  divine  mercy  in  the  numerous 
costly  gifts  and  in  the  discarded  crutches,  and  here 
faith  had  manifested  itself  for  generations. 

The  marquis'  throat  was  hoarse;  he  could  have 
spoken  no  words  if  he  had  tried.  He  laughed  in  his 
heart  at  the  gifts  of  the  grateful  ones;  those  crosses 
of  ivory  and  handsome  lamps  were  but  symbols  of 
barbarism  and  superstition.  The  tablets,  with  their 
inscriptions,  "Merci"  and  "Ex  voto,"  were  to  him 
absurd,  and  he  gibed  at  the  simple  credulity  of  the 
people  who  could  thus  be  misled.  All  these  evidences 
of  thanksgiving  were  but  cumulative  testimony  that 


THE    STROLLERS 

men  and  women  are  like  little  children,  who  will  be 
pleased  over  fairy  tales  or  frightened  over  ghost 
stories.  The  promise  of  paradise,  but  the  fairy  tale 
told  by  priests  to  men  and  women ;  the  threats  of  pun- 
ishment, the  ghost  stories  to  awe  them !  A  malicious 
delight  crept  into  his  diseased  imagination  that  he 
alone  in  the  cathedral  possessed  the  extreme  divina- 
tion, enabling  him  to  perceive  the  emptiness  of  all 
these  signs  and  symbols.  He  labored  in  a  fever  of 
mental  excitement  and  was  only  recalled  to  himself 
as  his  glance  once  more  rested  upon  the  young  girl. 

He  became  dimly  conscious  that  people  were  mov- 
ing past  them,  and  he  suddenly  longed  to  cry  out, 
"My  child !"  but  he  fought  down  the  impulse.  There 
could  be  no  turning  back  now  at  the  eleventh  hour ; 
the  marquis  was  a  philosopher,  and  did  not  believe 
that,  in  a  twinkling  of  an  eye,  a  man  may  set  behind 
all  that  has  transpired  and  regard  it  as  naught.  Some- 
thing within  held  him  from  speaking  to  her — perhaps 
his  own  inherent  sense  of  the  consistency  of  things ; 
his  appreciation  of  the  legitimate  finale  to  a  miserable 
order  of  circumstances!  Even  pride  forbade  depart- 
ure from  long-established  habit.  But  while  this 
train  of  thought  passed  through  his  mind,  he  realized 
she  was  regarding  him  with  clear,  compassionate 
eyes,  and  he  heard  her  voice : 

"Shall  we  go  now?    The  services  are  over." 

He  obeyed  without  question. 

"Over!" 

Those  moments  by  her  side  would  never  return! 


A   FINE   GENTLEMAN  353 

They  were  about  to  part  to  meet  no  more  on  earth.  He 
leaned  heavily  upon  her  arm  and  his  steps  were  falter- 
ing. Out  into  the  warm  sunshine  they  passed,  the 
light  revealing-  more  plainly  the  ravages  of  time  in 
his  face. 

"You  must  take  a  carriage,"  she  said  to  the  old 
man. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  he  replied.  "Leave  me 
here  on  the  bench.  I  shall  soon  be  myself.  I  am 
only  a  little  weak.  You  are  good  to  an  old  man. 
May  I  not" — asking  solely  for  the  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing her  speak — "may  I  not  know  the  name  of  one 
who  is  kind  to  an  old  man  ?" 

"My  name  is  Constance  Carew." 

He  shook  as  with  the  palsy.  "A  good  name,  a 
good  name!"  he  repeated.  "I  remember  years  ago 
another  of  that  name — an  actress  in  London.  A  very 
beautiful  woman,  and  good !  But  even  she  had  her  de- 
tractors and  none  more  bitter  than  the  man  who 
wronged  her.  You — you  resemble  her!  But  there, 
don't  let  me  detain  you.  I  shall  do  very  well  here. 
You  are  busy,  I  dare  say." 

"Yes,  I  should  be  at  rehearsal,"  she  replied  re- 
gretfully. 

"At  rehearsal!"  he  repeated.  "Yes! — yes! — .  But 
the  stage  is  no  place  for  you!"  he  added,  suddenly. 
"You  should  leave  it — leave  it!" 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  "Is  there  nothing 
more  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

"Nothing!     Nothing!     Except — no,  nothing!" 


354  THE    STROLLERS 

"You  were  about  to  ask  something?"  she  observed 
with  more  sympathy. 

"If  you  would  not  think  me  presuming — if  you 
would  not  deem  it  an  offense — you  remind  me  of  one 
I  loved  and  lost — it  is  so  long  ago  since  I  felt  her 
kiss  for  the  last  time — I  am  so  near  the  grave — " 

With  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  bent  her  head  and  her 
fresh  young  lips  just  touched  his  withered  brow. 

"Good-by,"  she  said.     "I  am  so  sorry  for  you !" 
And  she  was  gone,  leaving  him  sitting  there  motion- 
less as  though  life  had  departed. 

A  rattling  cab  that  clattered  noisily  past  the  cabildo 
and  calaboza,  and  swung  around  the  square,  aroused 
the  marquis.  He  arose,  stopped  the  driver,  and  en- 
tered the  rickety  vehicle. 

"The  law  office  of  Marks  and  Culver,"  said  the 
marquis. 

The  man  lashed  his  horse  and  the  attenuated  quad- 
ruped flew  like  a  winged  Pegasus,  soon  drawing  up 
before  the  attorneys'  office.  Fortunately  Culver  was 
in,  and,  although  averse  to  business  on  any  day — 
thinking  more  of  his  court-yard  and  his  fountain 
than  of  his  law  books — this  botanist-solicitor  made 
shift  to  comply  with  the  marquis'  instructions  and 
reluctantly  earned  a  modest  fee.  He  even  refused  to 
express  surprise  at  my  lord's  story ;  one  wife  in  Lon- 
don, another  in  Paris ;  why,  many  a  southern  gentle- 
man had  two  families — quadroons  being  plentiful, 
why  not?  Culver  unobtrusively  yawned,  and,  with 
fine  courtesy,  bowed  the  marquis  out. 


A    FINE   GENTLEMAN  355 

Slowly  the  latter  retraced  his  steps  to  his  home; 
his  feet  were  heavy  as  lead;  his  smile  was  forced; 
he  glanced  frequently  over  his  shoulder,  possessed  by 
a  strange  fantasy. 

"I  think  I  will  lie  down  a  little,"  he  said  to  his  valet. 
"In  this  easy  chair;  that  will  do.  I  am  feeling  well; 
only  tired.  How  that  mass  is  repeated  in  my  mind ! 
That  is  because  it  is  Palestrina,  Francois ;  not  because 
it  is-  a  vehicle  to  salvation,  employed  by  the  gibber- 
ing priests.  Never  let  your  heart  rule  your  head, 
boy.  Don't  mistake  anything  for  reality.  'What 
have  you  seen  in  your  travels?'  was  asked  of  Sage 
Evemere.  'Follies !'  was  the  reply.  'Follies,  follies 
everywhere!'  We  never  live;  we  are  always  in  the 
expectation  of  living." 

He  made  an  effort  to  smile  which  was  little  more 
than  a  grimace. 

"A  cigar,  Francois !" 

"My  lord,  are  you  well  ? — " 

The  marquis  flew  into  a  rage  and  the  valet  placed 
an  imported  weed  in  his  master's  hand. 

"A  light,  Frangois !" 

The  valet  obeyed.  For  a  moment  the  strong  cigar 
seemed  to  soothe  the  old  man,  although  his  hand 
shook  like  an  aspen  as  he  held  it. 

"Now,  bring  me  my  Voltaire,"  commanded  the 
marquis.  "The  volume  on  the  table,  idiot !  Ah !  here 
is  what  I  wish :  'It  takes  twenty  years  to  bring  man 
from  the  state  of  embryo,  and  from  that  of  a  mere 
criminal,  as  he  is  in  his  first  infancy,  to  the  point  when 


356  THE    STROLLERS 

his  reason  begins  to  dawn.  It  has  taken  thirty  cen- 
turies to  know  his  structure ;  it  would  take  eternity 
to  know  something  of  the  soul;  it  takes  but  an  in- 
stant to  kill  him.'  But  an  instant;  but  an  instant!" 
he  repeated. 

He  puffed  feebly  at  the  cigar. 

"It  is  cold  here,  Francois." 

The  servant  consulted  the  thermometer. 

"It  is  five  degrees  warmer  than  you  are  accustomed 
to,  my  lord,"  he  replied. 

"Bring  me  the  thermometer,"  commanded  the  old 
man.  "You  should  not  lie,  Frangois.  It  is  a  bad 
fault  in  servants.  Leave  it  to  your  masters;  it  is  a 
polite  vice.  The  privilege  of  the  world's  potentates, 
diplomats  and  great  people.  Never  fall  into  the  rut 
of  lying,  Francois,  or  you  will  soon  outlive  your  use- 
fulness as  a  valet." 

"You  can  see  that  I  speak  the  truth,  my  lord,"  was 
the  response,  as  calm  as  ever,  for  nothing  disturbed 
or  ruffled  this  ideal  servant. 

He  held  out  the  thermometer  for  the  marquis'  in- 
spection and  the  latter  examined  it  carefully.  The 
cigar  fell  from  his  fingers  to  the  floor.  The  atten- 
tive valet  picked  it  up  and  threw  it  into  the  grate. 

"I  believe,  Frangois,"  stammered  the  marquis, 
"that  the  fault  lies  with  me.  It  is  I — I,  who  am  grow- 
ing cold  like  death." 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  answered  the  calm  and  imperturba- 
ble servant. 


A   FINE   GENTLEMAN  357 

' 'Yes  ?'  you  blockhead !"  shrieked  the  master.  "Do 
you  know  what  you  are  saying?" 

"Well,  no,  then,  my  lord,"  responded  the  unmoved 
valet. 

"Yes  and  no!"  shouted  the  marquis  in  a  voice  that 
was  wildly  discordant.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"Whatever  my  lord  pleases,"  was  the  quiet  re- 
sponse. 

"Mon  Dieu!    I'll  discharge  you." 

The  servant  only  smiled. 

"Why  did  you  smile?" 

"Oh,  my  lord—" 

"Was  it  not  that  you  thought  it  a  good  joke  for  a 
dying  man  to  discharge  his  servant?" 

"My  lord  is  quick  to  catch  the  humorous  side  of 
anything,"  returned  Francois. 

"Begone,  idiot!  You  are  waiting  for  my  death  to 
discharge  you.  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes.  Yet  stay, 
Frangois,  for,  if  you  leave  me,  I  shall  be  alone.  You 
will  not  leave  me  ?" 

"As  my  lord  desires,"  was  Frangois'  response. 

"I  imagine  I  should  feel  better  if  I  had  my  foot- 
bath." 

The  servant  removed  the  shoes  and  silken  stock- 
ings from  his  master's  feet  and  propped  him  up  in  a 
chair,  throwing  a  blanket  over  his  shoulders  and 
heaping  more  wood  upon  the  fire  in  the  grate. 

"More  fire,  you  idiot !"  cried  the  marquis,  peevishly. 
"Do  you  not  see  that  I  am  freezing?" 


358  THE    STROLLERS 

"It  is  ten  degrees  above  the  temperature  my  lord 
always  ordered,"  retorted  Francois,  coolly. 

"Ten  degrees!  Oh,  you  wish  to  remind  me  that 
the  end  is  approaching?  You  do  not  dare  deny  it!" 
The  valet  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"But  I  am  not  gone  yet."  He  wagged  his  head 
cunningly  and  began  to  laugh  to  himself.  His  mind 
apparently  rambled,  for  he  started  to  chant  a  French 
love  song  in  a  voice  that  had  long  since  lost  its  ca- 
pacity for  a  sustained  tone.  The  words  were  dis- 
tinct, although  the  melody  was  broken,  and  the  spec- 
tacle was  gruesome  enough.  As  he  concluded  he 
looked  at  the  valet  as  if  for  approbation  and  began 
to  mumble  about  his  early  love  affairs. 

"Bah,  Franqois,"  he  said  shrilly,  "I'll  be  up  to- 
morrow as  gay  as  ever.  Vive  I' amour!  vive  la  joie! 
It  was  a  merry  life  we  led,  eh,  Francois?" 

"Merry  indeed,  my  lord." 

"It  kept  you  busy,  Francois.  There  was  the  little 
peasant  girl  on  the  Rhine.  What  flaxen  hair  she  had 
and  eyes  like  the  sky !  Yet  a  word  of  praise — a  little 
flattery—" 

"My  lord  was  irresistible,"  said  the  valet  with  mild 
sarcasm. 

"Let  me  see,  Francois,  what  became  of  her?" 

"She  drowned  herself  in  the  river." 

"That  is  true.  I  had  forgotten.  Well,  life  is  meas- 
ured by  pleasures,  not  by  years,  and  I  was  the  prince 
of  coxcombs.  Up  at  ten  o'clock;  no  sooner  on  ac- 


A    FINE   GENTLEMAN  359 

count  of  the  complexion ;  then  visits  from  the  trades- 
people and  a  drive  in  the  park  to  look  at  the  ladies. 
It  was  there  I  used  to  meet  the  English  actress. 
'Twas  there,  with  her,  I  vowed  the  park  was  a  gar- 
den of  Eden!  What  a  scene,  when  my  barrister 
tried  to  settle  the  case!  Fortunately  a  marriage  in 
England  was  not  a  marriage  in  France.  I  saw  her 
last  night,  Francois" — with  an  insane  look — "in  the 
flesh  and  blood;  as  life-like  as  the  night  before  we 
took  the  stage  for  Brighton !"  Suddenly  he  shrieked 
and  a  look  of  terror  replaced  the  vain,  simpering  ex- 
pression. 

"There,  Frangois  !"  Glancing  with  awe  behind  him. 
And  truly  there  stood  a  dark  shadow;  a  gruesome 
presence.  His  face  became  distorted  and  he  lapsed 
into  unconsciousness. 

The  valet  gazed  at  him  with  indifference.  Then  he 
went  to  an  inner  room  and  brought  a  valise  which  he 
began  packing  carefully  and  methodically.  After  he 
had  completed  this  operation  he  approached  the  dress- 
ing table  and  took  up  a  magnificent  jeweled  watch, 
which  he  examined  for  a  moment  before  thrusting 
it  into  his  pocket.  A  snuff  box,  set  with  diamonds, 
and  several  rings  followed.  Frangois  with  the  same 
deliberation  opened  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  small 
box  which  he  tried  to  open,  and,  failing,  forced  the 
lid  with  the  poker.  At  this,  my  lord  opened  his  eyes, 
and,  in  a  weak  voice,  for  his  strength  had  nearly  de- 
serted him,  demanded : 


360  THE    STROLLERS 

"What  are  you  doing,  Frangois?" 

"Robbing  you,  my  lord,"  was  the  slow  and  digni- 
fied response. 

The  marquis'  eyes  gleamed  with  rage.  He  en- 
deavored to  call  out,  but  his  voice  failed  him  and  he 
fell  back,  trembling  and  overcome. 

"Thief!     Ingrate!"  he  hissed,  hoarsely. 

"I  beg  you  not  to  excite  yourself,  my  lord,"  said 
the  stately  valet.  "You  are  already  very  weak  and 
it  will  hasten  the  end." 

"Is  this  the  way  you  repay  me  ?" 

"My  lord  will  not  need  these  things  soon." 

"Have  you  no  gratitude?"  stammered  the  marquis, 
whose  physical  and  mental  condition  was  truly  piti- 
able. 

"Gratitude  for  having  been  called  'idiot/  'dog,'  and 
'blockhead'  nearly  all  my  life!  I  am  somewhat  lack- 
ing in  that  quality,  I  fear." 

"Is  there  no  shame  in  you  ?" 

"Shame?"  repeated  Francois,  as  he  proceeded  to 
ransack  another  drawer.  "There  might  have  been 
before  I  went  into  your  service,  my  lord.  Yes ;  once 
I  felt  shame  for  you.  It  was  years  ago,  in  London, 
when  you  deserted  your  beautiful  wife.  When  I  saw 
how  she  worshiped  you  and  what  a  noble  woman  she 
was,  I  confess  I  felt  ashamed  that  I  served  one  of  the 
greatest  blackguards  in  Europe — " 

"Oh,  you  scoundrel — "  exclaimed  the  marquis,  his 
face  becoming  a  ghastly  hue. 

"Be  calm,  my  lord.     You  really  are  in  need  of  all 


A   FINE   GENTLEMAN  361 

your  energy.  For  years  I  have  submitted  to  your 
shameful  service.  I  have  been  at  the  beck  and  call 
of  one  of  the  greatest  roues  and  villains  in  France. 
Years  of  such  association  would  somewhat  soil  any 
nature.  Another  thing,  my  lord,  I  must  tell  you, 
since  you  and  I  are  settling  our  last  accounts.  For 
years  I  have  endured  your  miserable  King  Louis 
Philippe.  A  king  ?  Bah !  He  fled  from  the  back 
door !  A  coward,  who  shaved  his  whiskers  for  a  dis- 
guise." 

"No  more,  rascal !" 

"Rascal  yourself,  you  worn-out,  driveling  breath 
of  corruption !  It  is  so  pleasant  to  exercise  a  gentle- 
man's privilege  of  invective!  Ah,  here  is  the  purse. 
An  revoir,  my  lord.  A  pleasant  dissolution!" 

But  by  this  time  the  marquis  was  speechless,  and 
Francois,  taking  the  valise  in  hand,  deferentially  left 
the  room.  He  locked  the  door  behind  him  and  thrust 
the  key  into  his  pocket. 


CHAPTER    XII 

IN     THE     OLD     CEMETERY 

The  engagement  at  the  new  St.  Charles  was  both 
memorable  and  profitable,  The  Picayune,  before  the 
fifties,  an  audacious  sheet,  being  especially  kind  to 
the  players.  "This  paper,"  said  a  writer  of  the 
day,  "was  as  full  of  witticisms  as  one  of  Thack- 
eray's dreams  after  a  light  supper,  and,  as  for  Edi- 
tors Straws  and  Phazma,  they  are  poets  who  eat, 
talk  and  think  rhyme."  The  Picayune  contained  a 
poem  addressed  to  Miss  Carew,  written  by  Straws  in 
a  cozy  nook  in  the  veranda  at  the  Lake  End,  with  his 
absinthe  before  him  and  the  remains  of  an  elaborate 
repast  about  him.  It  was  then  quite  the  fashion  to 
write  stanzas  to  actresses ;  the  world  was  not  so  pro- 
saic as  it  is  now,  and  even  the  president  of  the  United 
States,  John  Quincy  Adams,  penned  graceful  verses 
to  a  fair  ward  of  Thalia. 

One  noon,  a  few  days  after  the  opening  perform- 
ance, several  members  of  the  company  were  late  for 
rehearsal  and  Barnes  strode  impatiently  to  and  fro, 
glancing  at  his  watch  and  frowning  darkly.  To 
(362) 


IN    THE    OLD    CEMETERY       363 

avenge  himself  for  the  remissness  of  the  players,  he 
roared  at  the  stage  carpenters  who  were  constructing 
a  balcony  and  to  the  supers  who  were  shifting  flats 
to  the  scenery  room.  The  light  from  an  open  door 
at  the  back  of  the  stage  dimly  illumined  the  scene ; 
overhead,  in  the  flies,  was  intense  darkness ;  while  in 
front,  the  auditorium  yawned  like  a  chasm,  in  no  wise 
suggestive  of  the  brilliant  transformation  at  night. 

"Ugh!"  said  Susan,  standing  in  one  of  the  en- 
trances. "It  is  like  playing  to  ghosts !  Fancy  per- 
forming to  an  audience  of  specters !  Perhaps  the 
phantoms  of  the  past  really  do  assemble  in  their  old 
places  on  occasions  like  this.  Only  you  can't  hear 
them  applaud  or  laugh." 

"Are  you  looking  for  admirers  among  ghosts?"  re- 
marked Hawkes,  ironically. 

"Don't,"  she  returned,  with  a  little  shiver. 

"So,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  are  all  here  at  last  ?" 
exclaimed  Barnes,  interrupting  this  cheerful  conversa- 
tion. "Some  of  you  are  late  again  to-day.  It  must 
not  happen  again.  Go  to  Victor's,  Moreau's,  or  Mig- 
uel's, as  much  as  you  please.  If  you  have  a  head- 
ache or  a  heartache  in  consequence,  that  is  your  own 
affair,  but  I  am  not  to  be  kept  waiting  the  next  day." 

"Victor's,  indeed!"  retorted  the  elastic  old  lady. 
"As  if  — " 

"No  one  supposed,  Madam,  that  at  your  age" — 
began  the  manager. 

"At  my  age !     If  you  think — 

"Are  you  all  ready?"  interrupted  Barnes,  hastily, 


364  THE    STROLLERS 

knowing  he  would  be  worsted  in  any  argument  with 
this  veteran  player.  "Then  clear  the  stage!  Act 
first!"  And  the  rehearsal  began. 

If  the  audience  were  specters,  the  performers 
moved,  apparently  without  rhyme  or  reason,  mere 
shadows  on  the  dimly  lighted  stage;  enacting  some 
semblance  to  scenes  of  mortal  life;  their  jests  and 
gibes,  unnatural  in  that  comparatively  empty  place ; 
their  voices,  out  of  the  semi-darkness,  like  those  of 
spirits  rehearsing  acts  of  long  ago.  In  the  evening 
it  would  all  become  an  amusing,  bright-colored  re- 
ality,-but  now  the  barrenness  of  the  scenes  was  forci- 
bly apparent. 

"That  will  do  for  to-day,"  said  the  manager  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  last  act.  "To-morrow,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  at  the  same  time.  And  any  one  who  is 
late — will  be  fined !" 

"Changing  the  piece  every  few  nights  is  all  work 
and  no  play,"  complained  Susan. 

"It  will  keep  you  out  of  mischief,  my  dear,"  replied 
Barnes,  gathering  up  his  manuscripts. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that!"  returned  Miss 
Susan,  with  a  defiant  toss  of  the  head,  as  she  moved 
toward  the  dressing-room  where  they  had  left  their 
wraps.  It  was  a  small  apartment,  fairly  bright  and 
cheery,  with  here  and  there  a  portrait  against  the 
wall.  Above  the  dressing-table  hung  a  mirror,  dia- 
mond-scratched with  hieroglyphic  scrawls,  among 
which  could  be  discerned  a  transfixed  .heart,  spitted 


IN   THE   OLD    CEMETERY       365 

like  a  lark  on  an  arrow,  and  an  etching  of  Lady  Gay 
Spanker,  with  cork-screw  curls.  Taglioni,  in  pencil 
caricature,  her  limbs  "divinely  slender,"  gyrated  on 
her  toes  in  reckless  abandon  above  this  mute  record 
of  names  now  forgotten. 

"What  lovely  roses,  Constance!"  exclaimed  Susan, 
as  she  entered,  bending  over  a  large  bouquet  on  one 
of  the  chairs.  "From  the  count,  I  presume?" 

"Yes,"  indifferently  answered  the  young  girl,  who 
was  adjusting  her  hat  before  the  mirror. 

"How  attentive  he  is!"  cooed  Susan,  her  tones 
floating  in  a  higher  register.  "Poor  man!  Enjoy 
yourself  while  you  may,  my  dear,"  she  went  on. 
"When  youth  is  gone,  what  is  left?  Women  should 
sow  their  wild  oats  as  well  as  men.  I  don't  call  them 
wild  oats,  though,  but  paradisaical  oats.  The  Elysian 
fields  are  strewn  with  them.*' 

As  she  spoke,  her  glance  swept  her  companion 
searchingly,  and,  in  that  brief  scrutiny,  Susan  ob- 
served with  inward  complacency  how  pale  the  other 
was,  and  how  listless  her  manner!  Their  common 
secret,  however,  made  Susan's  outward  demeanor 
sweetly  solicitous  and  gently  sympathetic.  Her  mind, 
passing  in  rapid  review  over  recent  events,  dwelt  not 
without  certain  satisfaction  upon  results.  True,  ev- 
ery night  she  was  still  forced  to  witness  Constance's 
success,  which  of  itself  was  wormwood  and  gall  to 
Susan,  to  stand  in  the  wings  and  listen  to  the  hateful 
applause;  but  the  conviction  that  the  sweets  of  popu- 


366  THE    STROLLERS 

lar  favor  brought  not  what  they  were  expected  to 
bring,  was,  in  a  way,  an  antidote  to  Susan's  dissatis- 
faction. 

A  little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing  and  can 
sometimes  be  made  annoying;  in  Susan's  case  it  was 
a  weapon  sharpened  with  honeyed  phrase  and  con- 
solatory bearing,  for  she  was  not  slow  to  discover 
nor  to  avail  herself  of  the  irritating  power  this  knowl- 
edge gave  her.  Constance's  pride  and  reticence,  how- 
ever, made  it  difficult  for  Susan  to  discern  when  her 
shafts  went  true.  Moreover,  although  harboring  no 
suspicion  of  Susan's  dissimulation,  she  instinctively 
held  aloof  from  her  and  remained  coldly  unrespon- 
sive. Perhaps  in  the  depths  of  Susan's  past  lurked 
something  indefinable  which  threw  its  shadow  be- 
tween them,  an  inscrutable  impediment ;  and  her  in- 
ability to  penetrate  the  young  actress'  reserve,  how- 
ever she  might  wound  her,  awakened  Susan's  resent- 
ment. But  she  was  too  world-wise  to  display  her  irri- 
tation. She  even  smiled  sweetly  now,  as  confidante  to 
confidante,  and,  turning  to  her  impulsively,  said : 
"Let  me  help  you  on  with  your  cloak,  dear?" 
Out  of  the  quiet,  deserted  theater,  isolated  from 
external  din,  to  the  busy  streets,  where  drays  went 
thundering  by,  and  industry  manifested  itself  in  re- 
sounding clatter,  was  a  sudden,  but  not  altogether 
unwelcome,  change  to  Constance.  Without  waiting 
for  the  manager,  who  paused  at  the  rear  entrance  to 
impress  his  final  instructions  upon  a  stolid-looking 


IN    THE    OLD    CEMETERY        367 

property-man,  she  turned  quickly  into  the  noisy  thor- 
oughfares. 

On  and  on  her  restlessness  led  her,  conscious  of  the 
clangor  of  vehicles  and  voices  and  yet  remote  from 
them;  past  those  picturesque  suggestions  of  the  one- 
time Spanish  rulers  in  which  the  antiquarian  could 
detect  evidence  of  remote  Oriental  infusion;  past  the 
silken  seductions  of  shops,  where  ladies  swarmed  and 
hummed  like  bees  around  the  luscious  hive ;  past  the 
idlers'  resorts,  from  whence  came  the  rat-a-tat  of 
clinking  billiard  balls  and  the  louder  rumble  of 
falling  ten-pins. 

In  a  window  of  one  of  these  places,  a  club  with 
a  reputation  for  "exclusiveness,  a  young  man  was 
seated,  newspaper  in  hand,  a  cup  of  black  coffee  on  a 
small  table  before  him,  and  the  end  of  a  cigar  smok- 
ing on  the  tray  where  he  had  placed  it.  With  a  yawn, 
he  had  just  thrown  aside  the  paper  and  was  reaching 
for  the  thick,  dark  beverage — his  hand  thin  and  nerv- 
ous— when,  glancing  without,  he  caught  sight  of  the 
actress  in  the  crowd.  Obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  he 
arose,  picking  up  his  hat  which  lay  on  a  chair  be- 
side him. 

"Yo'  order  am  ready  in  a  moment,  Mr.  Mauville," 
said  a  colored  servant,  hurrying  toward  the  land 
baron  as  the  latter  was  leaving. 

"I've  changed  my  mind  and  don't  want  it,"  replied 
the  other  curtly. 

And  sauntering  down  the  steps  of  the  club  with 


368  THE    STROLLERS 

ill-concealed  impatience,  he  turned  in  the  direction 
the  young-  girl  had  taken,  keeping  her  retreating  fig- 
ure in  view ;  now,  so  near  her  in  the  crowded  street, 
he  could  almost  touch  her ;  then,  as  they  left  the  devi- 
ous ways,  more  distant,  but  ever  with  his  eyes  bent 
upon  her.  He  had  almost  spoken,  when  in  the  throng 
he  approached  within  arm's  length,  but  something — 
he  knew  not  what — restrained  him,  and  a  press  of 
people  separated  them.  Only  for  a  moment,  and 
then  he  continued  the  questionable  pleasure  of  follow- 
ing her. 

Had  she  turned,  she  would  probably  have  seen  her 
pursuer,  but  absorbed  in  thought,  she  continued 
on  her  way,  unconscious  of  his  presence.  On  and  on 
she  hurried,  until  she  reached  the  tranquil  outskirts 
and  lingered  before  the  gate  of  one  of  the  cemeteries. 
At  the  same  time  the  land  baron  slackened  his  foot- 
steps, hesitating  whether  to  advance  or  turn  back. 
After  a  moment's  indecision,  she  entered  the  ceme- 
tery ;  her  figure,  receding  in  the  distance,  was  becom- 
ing more  and  more  indistinct,  when  he  started  for- 
ward quickly  and  also  passed  through  the  gate. 

The  annual  festival  of  the  dead,  following  All 
Saint's  day,  was  being  observed  in  the  burial  ground. 
This  commemoration  of  those  who  have  departed  in 
the  communion — described  by  Tertullian  in  the  sec- 
ond century  as  an  "apostolic  tradition,"  so  old  was 
the  sacrifice! — was  celebrated  with  much  pomp  and 
variety  in  the  Crescent  City.  In  the  vicinity  of  the 
cemetery  gathered  many  colored  marchandes,  their 


IN   THE   OLD    CEMETERY       369 

heads  and  shoulders  draped  in  shawls  and  fichus  of 
bright,  diversified  hues;  before  them,  perambulating 
booths  with  baskets  of  molasses  candy  or  pain-patate. 
Women,  dressed  in*  mourning,  bore  to  the  tomb  flow- 
ers and  plants,  trays  of  images,  wreaths,  crosses,  an- 
chors of  dried  immortelles  and  artificial  roses.  Some 
were  accompanied  by  priests  and  acolytes  with  cen- 
sers, the  former  intoning  the  service: 

Fidelium  Deus  omnium  conditor — 

A  solemn  peace  fell  upon  the  young  girl  as  she  en- 
tered and  she  seemed  to  leave  behind  her  all  disturb- 
ing emotions,  finding  refuge  in  the  supreme  tran- 
quillity of  this  ancient  city  of  the  dead.  She  was 
surrounded  by  a  resigned  grief,  a  sorrow  so  dignified 
that  it  did  not  clash  with  the  sweeter  influences  of 
nature.  The  monotonous  sound  of  the  words  of  the 
priests  harmonized  with  the  scene.  The  tongue  of  a 
nation  that  had  been  resolved  into  the  elements  was 
fitting  in  this  place,  where  time  and  desolation  had 
left  their  imprint  in  discolored  marble,  inscriptions 
almost  effaced,  and  clambering  vines. 

— Animabus  famulorum — 

To  many  the  words  so  mournfully  intoned  brought 
solace  and  surcease  from  sorrow.  The  sisters  of  char- 
ity moved  among  the  throng  with  grave,  pale  faces, 
mere  shadows  of  their  earthly  selves,  as  though  they 
had  undergone  the  first  stage  of  the  great  metamor- 
phosis which  is  promised.  To  them,  who  had  al- 


370  THE   STROLLERS 

ready  buried  health,  vitality  and  passion,  was  not 
this  chant  to  the  dead,  this  strange  intoning  of  words, 
sweeter  than  the  lullaby  crooned  by  a  nurse  to  a  child, 
more  stirring  than  the  patriotic  hymn  to  a  soldier, 
and  fraught  with  more  fervor  than  the  romantic 
dream  of  a  lover  ? 

Ut  indulgentiam,  quam  semper  optaverunt- 

The  little  orphan  children  heard  and  heeded  no 
more  than  the  butterfly  which  lighted  upon  the  en- 
graven words,  "Dust  to  dust,"  and  poised  gracefully, 
as  it  bathed  in  the  sunshine,  stretching  its  wings  in 
wantonness  of  beauty. 

Piis  supplicationibus  consequantur — 

Now  Constance  smiled  to  see  the  little  ones  play- 
ing on  the  steps  of  a  monument.  It  was  the  tomb  of 
a  great  jurist,  a  man  of  dignity  during  his  mundane 
existence,  his  head  crammed  with  those  precepts 
which  are  devised  for  the  temporal  well-being  of  that 
fabric,  sometimes  termed  society,  and  again,  civiliza- 
tion. The  poor  waifs,  with  suppressed  laughter — 
they  dared  not  give  full  vent  to  their  merriment  with 
the  black-robed  sisters  not  far  away — ran  around  the 
steps,  unmindful  of  the  inscription  which  might  have 
been  written  by  a  Johnson,  and  as  unconscious  of  un- 
seemly conduct  as  the  insects  that  hummed  in  the 
grass. 

"Hush !"  whispered  one  of  the  sisters,  as  a  funeral 
cortege  approached. 


IN    THE    OLD    CEMETERY        371 

The  children,  wide-eyed  in  awe  and  wonder,  de- 
sisted in  their  play. 

"It  is  an  old  man  who  died  last  night,"  said  a  nun 
in  a  low  voice  to  Constance,  noticing  her  look  of  in- 
quiry. 

The  silver  crucifix  shone  fitfully  ahead,  while  the 
chanting  of  the  priests,  winding  in  and  out  after  the 
holy  symbol,  fell  upon  the  ear.  And  the  young  girl 
gazed  with  pity  as  the  remains  of  the  Marquis  de 
Ligne,  her  father,  were  borne  by. 

Qui  vivis  et  regnas.     Glorificamus  te. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

• 

AN     INCONGRUOUS     ROLE 

Longer  and  longer  trailed  the  shadow  of  a  tall  tomb- 
stone until,  as  the  sun  went  down,  it  merged  into  the 
general  twilight  like  a  life  lengthening  out  and  out 
and  finally  blending  in  restful  darkness.  With  that 
transition  came  a  sudden  sense  of  isolation  and  lone- 
liness; the  little  burial  ground  seemed  the  world; 
the  sky,  its  walls  and  ceiling. 

From  the  neighborhood  of  the  gates  had  vanished 
the  dusky  venders,  trundling  their  booths  and  stalls 
citywards.  As  abruptly  had  disappeared  the  bearers 
of  flowers  and  artificial  roses  with  baskets  poised 
upon  their  heads,  imparting  to  their  figures  dignity 
and  erectness.  The  sad-eyed  nuns  had  wended  their 
way  out  of  the  little  kingdom  of  the  departed,  sur- 
rounded by  the  laughing  children  and  preceded  by  the 
priests  and  acolytes.  All  the  sounds  and  activities 
of  the  day — the  merriment  of  the  little  ones,  the  ob- 
lations of  the  priests,  the  greetings  of  friends — were 
followed  by  inertness  and  languor.  Motionless 
against  the  sky  spread  the  branches  of  the  trees,  like 
(372) 


AN    INCONGRUOUS   ROLE 


373 


lines  etched  there ;  still  were  the  clambering  vines  that 
clasped  monolith  and  column. 

But  suddenly  that  death-like  lull  in  nature's  ani- 
mation and  unrest  was  abruptly  broken,  and  an  up- 
roarious vociferation  dispelled  the  voiceless  peace. 

*  "For  Jack  ashore's  a  Croesus,  lads, 

With  a  Jill  for  every  Jack — " 

sang  a  hoarse  voice  as  its  owner  came  staggering 
along  one  of  the  walks  of  the  cemetery;  for  all  his 
song,  no  blue-water  sailor-man,  but  a  boisterous  den- 
izen of  the  great  river,  a  raftsman  or  a  keel-boatman, 
who  had  somehow  found  himself  in  the  burial  ground 
and  now  was  beating  aimlessly  about.  How  this  rol- 
licking waif  of  the  grog  shop  came  to  wander  so  far 
from  the  convivial  haunts  of  his  kind  and  to  choose 
this  spot  for  a  ramble,  can  only  be  explained  by  the 
vagaries  of  inebriety. 

"With  a  Jill  in  your  wake, 
A  fair  port  you'll  make — " 

he  continued,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  figure  of  a 
woman,  some  distance  ahead,  and  fairly  discernible 
in  the  gathering  twilight.  Immediately  the  song 
ceased  and  he  steadied  himself,  gazing  incredulously 
after  the  form  that  had  attracted  his  attention. 

"Hello!"  he  -said.  "Avast,  my  dear!"  he  called 
out. 

Echoing  in  that  still  place,  his  harsh  tones  produced 
a  startling  effect,  and  the  figure  before  him  moved 


374  THE    STROLLERS 

faster  and  faster,  casting  a  glance  behind  her  at  the 
man  from  the  river,  who  with  snatches  of  song, 
started  in  uncertain  but  determined  pursuit.  As  the 
heavy  footsteps  sounded  nearer,  she  increased  her 
pace,  with  eyes  bent  upon  the  distant  gate;  darker 
seemed  to  grow  the  way ;  more  menacing  the  shad- 
ows outstretched  across  the  path.  Louder  crunched 
the  boots  on  the  shell  walk ;  more  audible  became  the 
words  of  the  song  that  flowed  from  his  lips,  when  the 
sound  of  a  sudden  and  violent  altercation  replaced 
the  hoarse-toned  cadence,  an  altercation  that  was  of 
brief  duration,  characterized  by  longshoreman  oaths, 
and  followed  by  silence;  and  then  a  figure,  not  that 
of  the  tuneful  waterman,  sprang  to  the  side  of  the 
startled  girl. 

"Miss  Carew !"  exclaimed  a  well-remembered  voice. 

Bewildered,  breathing  quickly,  she  gazed  from 
Edward  Mauville,  who  thus  unexpectedly  accosted 
her,  to  the  prostrate  form,  lying  motionless  on  the 
road.  The  rude  awakening  from  her  day-dream  in 
the  hush  of  that  peaceful  place,  and  the  surprising  se- 
quence had  dazed  her  senses,  and,  for  the  moment, 
it  seemed  something  tragic  must  have  happened. 

"Is  he  dead?"  she  asked  quickly,  unable  to  with- 
draw her  glance  from  the  immovable  figure,  stretched 
out  in  the  dim  light  on  the  path. 

"No  fear !"  said  Mauville,  quietly,  almost  thought- 
fully, although  his  eyes  were  yet  bright  from  the  en- 
counter. "You  can't  kill  his  kind,"  he  added,  con- 
temptuously. "Brutes  from  coal  barges,  or  raftsmen 


AN    INCONGRUOUS    ROLE      375 

from  the  head  waters !  He  struck  against  a  stone 
when  he  fell,  and  what  with  that,  and  the  liquor  in 
him,  will  rest  there  awhile.  He'll  come  to  without 
remembering  what  has  happened." 

Turning  moodily,  the  land  baron  walked  slowly 
down  the  road,  away  from  the  gate;  she  thought  he 
was  about  to  leave  her,  when  he  paused,  as  though 
looking  for  something,  stooped  to  the  ground,  and 
returned,  holding  out  a  garment. 

"You  dropped  your  wrap,  Miss  Carew,"  he  said, 
awkwardly.  "The  night  is  cold  and  you  will  need 
it."  She  offered  no  resistance  when  he  placed  it  over 
her  shoulders;  indeed,  seemed  unconscious  of  the  at- 
tention. 

"Don't  you  think  we  had  better  go?"  he  went  on. 
"It  won't  hurt  him" — indicating  the  motionless  body 
— "to  stay  here — the  brute !" 

But  as  he  spoke,  with  some  constraint,  her  eyes, 
full  of  doubts,  met  his,  and  he  felt  a  flush  mantle  his 
face.  The  incongruity  of  his  position  appealed  forci- 
bly to  him.  Had  he  not  been  watching  and  following 
her  himself?  Seeing  her  helpless,  alone,  in  the  silent 
spot,  where  she  had  unconsciously  lingered  too  long, 
had  he  not  been  almost  on  the  point  of  addressing  her  ? 
Moved  by  vague  desires,  had  he  not  already  started 
impetuously  toward  her,  when  the  man  from  the  river 
had  come  rollicking  along  and  insinuated  himself  after 
his  fashion  in  the  other's  role? 

And  at  the  sight— the  fleeing  girl,  the  drunken, 
profane  waterman !— how  his  heart  had  leaped  and 


376  THE   STROLLERS 

his  body  had  become  steel  for  the  encounter ;  an  ex- 
cess of  vigor  for  a  paltry  task!  Jack,  as  he  called 
himself,  might  have  been  a  fighting-man  earlier  in 
the  day,  but  now  he  had  gone  down  like  straw. 
When  the  excitement  of  this  brief  collision  was  over, 
however,  the  land  baron  found  his  position  as  unex- 
pected as  puzzling. 

As  these  thoughts  swiftly  crossed  his  mind,  he 
could  not  forbear  a  bitter  laugh,  and  she,  walking 
more  quickly  toward  the  gate,  regarded  him  with  in- 
quiry, not  perhaps  unmingled  with  apprehension. 
A  picture  of  events,  gone  by,  arose  before  her  like 
a  menacing  shadow  over  the  present.  He  interpreted 
her  glance  for  what  it  meant,  and  angry  that  she 
doubted  him,  angry  with  himself,  said  roughly : 

"Oh,  you  haven't  anything  to  fear !" 

Her  answering  look  was  so  gentle,  so  sad,  an  un- 
wonted feeling  of  compunction  seized  him ;  he  repent- 
ed of  his  harshness,  and  added  less  brusquely : 

"Why  did  you  remain  so  late?" 

"I  did  not  realize  how  late  it  had  become." 

"Your  thoughts  must  have  been  very  absorbing!" 
he  exclaimed  quickly,  his  brow  once  more  overcast. 

Not  difficult  was  it  for  him  to  surmise  upon  whom 
her  mind  had  been  bent,  and  involuntarily  his  jaw  set 
disagreeably,  while  he  looked  at  her  resentfully.  In 
that  light  he  could  but  dimly  discern  her  face.  Her 
bonnet  had  fallen  from  her  head;  her  eyes  were  bent 
before  her,  as  though  striving  to  penetrate  the  gather- 


AN    INCONGRUOUS   ROLE      377 

ing  darkness.  With  his  sudden  spell  of  jealousy 
came  the  temptation  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  in  that 
silent,  isolated  place,  but  the  figure  of  the  sailor  came 
between  him  and  the  desire,  while  pride,  the  heritage 
of  the  gentleman,  fought  down  the  longing.  This 
self-conquest  was  not  accomplished,  however,  without 
a  sacrifice  of  temper,  for  after  a  pause,  he  observed: 

"There  is  no  accounting  for  a  woman's  taste!" 

She  did  not  controvert  this  statement,  but  the  start 
she  gave  told  him  the  shaft  had  sped  home. 

"An  outlaw!  An  outcast!"  exclaimed  the  patroon, 
stung  beyond  endurance  by  his  thoughts. 

Still  no  reply ;  only  more  hurried  footsteps !  Around 
them  sounded  a  gentle  rustling;  a  lizard  scrambled 
out  of  their  path  through  the  crackling  leaves ;  a  bat, 
or  some  other  winged  creature,  suddenly  whirred  be- 
fore them  and  vanished.  They  had  now  approached 
the  gate,  through  which  they  passed  and  found  them- 
selves on  the  road  leading  directly  to  the  city,  whose 
lights  had  already  begun  to  twinkle  in  the  dusk. 

The  cheering  rumble  of  a  carriage  and  the  aspect 
of  the  not  far-distant  town  quickened  her  spirits  and 
imparted  elasticity  to  her  footsteps.  Upon  the  land 
baron  they  produced  an  opposite  effect,  for  he  was 
obviously  reluctant  to  abandon  the  interview,  how- 
ever unsatisfactory  it  might  be.  There  was  nothing 
to  say,  and  yet  he  was  loath  to  leave  her;  there  was 
nothing  to  accomplish,  and  yet  he  wished  to  remain 
with  her.  For  this  reason,  as  they  drew  near  the 
city,  his  mood  became  darker,  like  the  night  around 


378  THE    STROLLERS 

them.  Instinctively,  she  felt  the  turbulent  passions 
stirring  in  his  bosom;  his  sudden  silence,  his  dogged 
footsteps  reawakened  her  misgivings.  Furtively  she 
regarded  him,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed  straight  before 
him  on  the  soft  luster  above  the  city,  the  reflection  of 
the  lights,  and  she  knew  and  mistrusted  his  thoughts. 
Although  she  found  his  silence  more  menacing  than 
his  words,  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  to  break 
the  spell,  and  so  they  continued  to  walk  mutely  side 
by  side.  An  observer,  seeing  them  beneath  the  cy- 
press, a  lovers'  promenade,  with  its  soft,  enfolding 
shadows,  would  have  taken  them  for  a  well-matched 
couple,  who  had  no  need  for  language. 

But  when  they  had  emerged  from  that  romantic 
lane  and  entered  the  city,  the  land  baron  breathed  more 
freely.  She  was  now  surrounded  by  movement  and 
din ;  the  seclusion  of  the  country  gave  way  to  the 
stir  of  the  city;  she  was  no  longer  dependent  on  his 
good  offices ;  his  role  of  protector  had  ended  when 
they  left  the  cypress  walk  behind  them. 

His  brow  cleared;  he  glanced  at  her  with  ill-con- 
cealed admiration ;  he  noticed  with  secret  pride  the 
attention  she  attracted  from  passers-by,  the  sidelong 
looks  of  approval  that  followed  her  through  the 
busy  streets.  The  land  baron  expanded  into  his  old 
self;  he  strode  at  her  side,  gratified  by  the  scrutiny 
she  invited;  assurance  radiated  from  his  eyes  like 
some  magnetic  heat;  he  played  at  possession  wilfully, 
perversely.  "Why  not,"  whispered  Hope.  "A 


AN   INCONGRUOUS   ROLE      379 

woman's  mind  is  shifting  ever.  Her  fancy — a  breath ! 
The  other  is  gone.  Why — " 

"It  was  not  accident  my  being  in  the  cemetery,  Miss 
Carew,"  said  Mauville,  suddenly  covering  her  with  his 
glance.  Meeting  her  look  of  surprise  unflinchingly, 
he  continued:  "I  followed  you  there;  through  the 
streets,  into  the  country!  My  seeing  you  first  was 
chance;  my  presence  in  the  burial  ground  the  result 
of  that  chance.  The  inevitable  result!"  he  repeated 
softly.  "As  inevitable  as  life !  Life ;  what  is  it  ?  In- 
fluences which  control  us ;  forces  which  bind  us !  It 
is  you,  or  all ;  you  or  nothing !" 

She  did  not  reply ;  his  voice,  vibrating  with  feeling, 
touched  no  answering  chord.  Nevertheless,  a  new, 
inexplicable  wave  of  sorrow  moved  her.  It  might  be 
he  had  cared  for  her  as  sincerely  as  it  was  possible 
for  his  wayward  heart  to  care  for  any  one.  Perhaps 
time  would  yet  soften  his  faults,  and  temper  his  rash- 
ness. With  that  shade  of  sorrow  for  him  there  came 
compassion  as  well;  compassion  that  overlooked  the 
past  and  dwelt  on  the  future. 

She  raised  her  steady  eyes.  "Why  should  it  be 
'I  or  nothing/  as  you  put  it?"  she  finally  answered 
slowly.  "Influences  may  control  us  in  a  measure,  but 
we  may  also  strive  for  something.  We  can  always 
strive." 

"For  what?  For  what  we  don't  want?  That's  the 
philosophy  of  your  moralists,  Miss  Carew,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "That's  your  modern  ethics  of  duty.  Play- 


380  THE   STROLLERS 

ing  tricks  with  happiness !  The  game  isn't  worth  the 
candle.  Or,  if  you  believe  in  striving,"  he  added, 
half  resentfully,  half  imploringly,  "strive  to  care  for 
me  but  a  little.  But  a  little !"  he  said  again.  "I  who 
once  wanted  all,  and  would  have  nothing  but  all,  am 
content  to  ask,  to  plead,  for  but  a  little." 

"I  see  no  reason,"  she  replied,  wearily,  yet  not  un- 
kindly, "why  we  should  not  be  friends." 

"Friends!"  he  answered,  bitterly.  "I  do  not  beg 
for  a  loaf,  but  a  crumb.  Yet  you  refuse  me  that !  I 
will  wait!  Only  a  word  of  encouragement!  Will 
you  not  give  it?" 

She  turned  and  looked  into  his  eyes,  and,  before 
she  spoke,  he  knew  what  her  answer  would  be. 

"How  can  I?"  she  said,  simply.  "Why  should  I 
promise  something  I  'can  never  fulfil  ?" 

He  held  her  glance  as  though  loath  to  have  it  leave 
him. 

"May  I  see  you  again?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

She  shook  her  head.  His  gaze  fell,  seeing  no  soft- 
ening in  her  clear  look. 

"You  are  well  named,"  he  repeated,  more  to  himself 
than  to  her.  "Constance !  You  are  constant  in  your 
dislikes  as  well  as  your  likes." 

"I  have  no  dislike  for  you,"  she  replied.  "It  seems 
to  have  been  left  behind  me  somewhere." 

"Only  indifference,  then !"  he  said,  dully. 

"No;  not  indifference!" 

"You  do  care  what — may  become  of  me?" 


AN    INCONGRUOUS   ROLE      381 

"You  should  do  so  much — be  so  much  in  the  world," 
she  answered,  thoughtfully. 

"Sans  peur  et  sans  reproche!"  he  cried,  half- 
amused,  half-cheerlessly.  "What  a  pity  I  met  you— 
too  late!" 

They  were  now  at  the  broad  entrance  of  the  bril- 
liantly-lighted hotel.  Several  loungers,  smoking  their 
after-dinner  cigars,  gazed  at  the  couple  curiously. 

"Mauville's  a  lucky  dog,"  said  one. 

"Yes;  he  was  born  with  a  silver  spoon,"  replied 
the  person  addressed. 

As  he  passed  through  the  envious  throng,  the 
land  baron  had  regained  his  self-command,  although 
his  face  was  marked  with  an  unusual  pallor.  In  his 
mind  one  thought  was  paramount — that  the  walk  be- 
gun at  the  burial-ground  was  drawing  to  an  end ;  their 
last  walk ;  the  finale  of  all  between  them !  Yet  he 
could  call  to  mind  nothing  further  to  say.  His  story 
had  been  told ;  the  conclusion  reached.  She,  too,  had 
spoken,  and  he  knew  she  would  never  speak  differ- 
ently. Bewildered  and  unable  to  adjust  his  new  and 
strange  feelings,  it  dawned  upon  him  he  had  never 
understood  himself  and  her ;  that  he  had  never  really 
known  what  love  was,  arid  he  stood  abashed,  con- 
fronted by  his  own  ignorance.  Passion,  caprice,  fancy, 
he  had  seen  depth  in  their  shallows,  but  now  looked 
down  and  discerned  the  pebbly  bottom.  All  this  and 
much  more  surged  through  his  brain  as  he  made  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  and,  entering  the  corridor  of 


382  THE    STROLLERS 

the  hotel,  took  formal  leave  of  the  young  girl  at  the 
stairway. 

"Good-night,  Miss  Carew,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"Good-night,"  she  replied.  And  then,  on  the  steps, 
she  turned  and  looked  down  at  him,  extending  her 
hand:  "Thank  you!" 

That  half-timid,  low  "thank  you !"  he  knew  was 
all  he  would  ever  receive  from  her.  He  hardly  felt 
the  hand-clasp;  he  was  hardly  conscious  when  she 
turned  away.  A  heavier  hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder. 

"You  sly  dog!"  said  a  thick  voice.  "Well,  a  judge 
of  a  good  horse  is  a  judge  of  a  handsome  woman! 
We're  making  up  a  few  bets  on  the  horses  to-morrow. 
Colonel  Ogelby  will  ride  Dolly  D,  and  I'm  to  ride  my 
Gladiator.  It'll  be  a  gentlemen's  race." 

"Aren't  we  gentlemen?"  growled  a  professional 
turfsman. 

"Gad!  it's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  a  jockey  pre- 
tend to  be  one!"  chuckled  the  first  speaker.  "What 
do  you  say,  Mauville?" 

"What  do  I  say?"  repeated  the  land  baron,  striving 
to  collect  his  thoughts.  "What — why,  I'll  make  it 
an  even  thousand,  if  you  ride  your  own  horse, 
you'll—" 

"Win?"  interrupted  the  proud  owner. 

"No ;  fall  off  before  he's  at  the  second  quarter  F 

"Done!"  said  the  man,  immediately. 

"Huzza!"  shouted  the  crowd. 

"That's  the  way  they  bet  on  a  gentlemen's  race!" 
jeered  the  gleeful  jockey. 


AN   INCONGRUOUS   ROLE      383 

"Drinks  on  Gladiator!"  exclaimed  some  one.  And 
as  no  southern  gentleman  was  ever  known  to  refuse 
to  drink  to  a  horse  or  a  woman,  the  party  car- 
ried the  discussion  to  the  barroom. 


BOOK    III 
THE    FINAL    CUE 


CHAPTER    I 

OVERLOOKING    THE    COURT-YARD 

"In  the  will  of  the  Marquis  de  Ligne,  probated 
yesterday,  all  of  the  property,  real  and  personal,  is 
left  to  his  daughter,  Constance,"  wrote  Straws  in  his 
paper  shortly  after  the  passing-  of  the  French  noble- 
man. "The  document  states  this  disposition  of  prop- 
erty is  made  as  'an  act  of  atonement  and  justice  to 
my  daughter,  whose  mother  I  deserted,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  French  law  to  annul  my  marriage  in 
England.'  The  legitimacy  of  the  birth  of  this,  his 
only  child,  is  thereupon  fully  acknowledged  by  the 
marquis  after  a  lapse  of  many  years  and  long  after 
the  heretofore  unrecognized  wife  had  died,  deserted 
and  forgotten.  Thrown  on  her  own  resources,  the 
young  child,  with  no  other  friend  than  Manager 
Barnes,  battled  with  the  world;  now  playing  in  tav- 
erns or  barns,  like  the  players  of  interludes,  the  stroll- 
ers of  old,  or  'vagabonds',  as  the  great  and  mighty 
Junius,  from  his  lofty  plane,  termed  them.  The  story 
of  that  period  of  'vagrant'  life  adds  one  more  chapter 
(387) 


388  THE    STROLLERS 

to  the  annals  of  strolling  players  which  already  in- 
clude such  names  as  Kemble,  Siddons  and  Kean. 

"From  the  Junius  category  to  a  public  favorite  of 
New  Orleans  has  been  no  slight  transition,  and  now, 
to  appear  in  the  role  of  daughter  of  a  marquis  and 
heiress  to  a  considerable  estate — truly  man — and 
woman — play  many  parts  in  this  brief  span  called 
life!  But  in  making  her  sole  heir  the  marquis 
specifies  a  condition  which  will  bring  regrets  to  many 
of  the  admirers  of  the  actress.  He  robs  her  of  her 
birthright  from  her  mother.  The  will  stipulates  that 
the  recipient  give  up  her  profession,  not  because  it  is 
other  than  a  noble  one,  but  'that  she  may  the  better 
devote  herself  to  the  duties  of  her  new  position  and 
by  her  beneficence  and  charity  remove  the  stain  left 
upon  an  honored  name  by  my  second  wife,  the 
Duchesse  D'Argens' " 

The  marquis'  reference  to  "charity"  and  "benefi- 
cence" was  in  such  ill-accord  with  his  character  that 
it  might  be  suspected  an  adroit  attorney,  in  drawing 
up  the  document,  had  surreptitiously  inserted  it.  His 
proud  allusion  to  his  honored  name  and  slurring  sug- 
gestion of  the  taint  put  upon  it  by  his  second  wife 
demonstrated  the  marquis  was  not  above  the  foibles 
of  his  kind,  overlooking  his  own  light  conduct  and 
dwelling  on  that  of  his  noble  helpmate.  It  was  the 
final  taunt,  and,  as  the  lady  had  long  since  been  laid 
in  God's  Acre,  where  there  is  only  silence  divine,  it 
received  no  answer,  and  the  world  was  welcome  to 
digest  and  gorge  it  and  make  the  most  of  it. 


THE   COURT-YARD  389 

But  although  the  marquis  and  his  lady  had  no 
further  interest  in  subsequent  events,  growing  out  of 
their  brief  sojourn  on  earth,  the  contents  of  the  will 
afforded  a  theme  of  gossip  for  the  living  and  molded 
the  affairs  of  one  in  new  shape  and  manner.  On  the 
same  day  this  public  exposition  appeared,  Barnes  and 
the  young  actress  were  seated  in  the  law  office  of 
Marks  and  Culver,  a  room  overlooking  a  court-yard, 
brightened  by  statues  and  urns  of  flowers.  A  plaster 
bust  of  Justinian  gazed  benignly  through  the  window 
at  a  fountain ;  a  steel  engraving  of  Jeremy  Bentham 
watched  the  butterflies,  and  Hobbes  and  John  Austin, 
austere  in  portraiture,  frowned  darkly  down  upon  the 
flowering  garden.  While  the  manager  and  Constance 
waited  for  the  attorney  to  appear,  they  were  discuss- 
ing, not  for  the  first  time,  the  proviso  of  the  will  to 
which  Straws  had  regretfully  alluded. 

"Yes,"  said  Barnes,  folding  the  newspaper  which 
contained  Straws'  article  and  placing  it  in  his  pocket ; 
"you  should  certainly  give  up  the  stage.  We  must 
think  of  the  disappointments,  the  possible  failure,  the 
slender  reward.  There  was  your  mother — such  an 
actress!— yet  toward  the  last  the  people  flocked  to  a 
younger  rival.  I  have  often  thought  anxiously  of  your 
future,  for  I  am  old— yes,  there  is  no  denying  it !— and 
any  day  I  may  leave  you,  dependent  solely  upon  your- 
self." 

"Do  not  speak  like  that,"  she  answered,  tenderly. 
"We  shall  be  together  many,  many  years." 

"Always,  if  I  had  my  way,"  he  returned,  heartily. 


390  THE   STROLLERS 

"But  with  this  legacy  you  are  superior  to  the  fickle 
public.  In  fact,  you  are  now  a  part  of  the  capricious 
public,  my  dear,"  he  added  in  a  jocular  tone,  "and 
may  applaud  the  'heavy  father,'  myself,  or  prattle 
about  prevailing  styles  while  the  buskined  tragedian 
is  strutting  below  your  box.  Why  turn  to  a  blind 
bargain?  Fame  is  a  jade,  only  caught  after  our  illu- 
sions are  gone  and  she  seems  not  half  so  sweet  as 
when  pursuing  her  in  our  dreams !" 

But  as  he  spoke,  with  forced  lightness,  beneath 
which,  however,  the  young  girl  could  readily  detect 
the  vein  of  anxiety  and  regret,  she  was  regarding  him 
with  the  clear  eyes  of  affection.  His  face,  seamed 
with  many  lines  and  bearing  the  deeply  engraved 
handwriting  of  time,  spoke  plainly  of  declining  years ; 
every  lineament  was  eloquent  with  vicissitudes  en- 
dured ;  and  as  she  discerningly  read  that  varied  past  of 
which  her  own  brief  career  had  been  a  part,  there 
entered  her  mind  a  brighter  picture  of  a  tranquil  life 
for  him  at  last,  where  in  old  age  he  could  exchange 
uncertainty  and  activity  for  security  and  rest.  How 
could  she  refuse  to  do  as  he  desired?  How  often 
since  fate  had  wrought  this  change  in  her  life  had  she 
asked  herself  the  question? 

Her  work,  it  is  true,  had  grown  dearer  to  her  than 
ever;  of  late  she  had  thrown  herself  into  her  task 
with  an  ardor  and  earnestness  lifting  each  portrayal 
to  a  higher  plane.  Is  it  that  only  with  sorrow  comes 
the  fulness  of  art;  that  its  golden  gates  are  never 
swung. entirely  open  to  the  soul  bearing  no  burden? 


THE    COURT-YARD  391 

Closed  to  ruder  bufferings,  is  it  only  to  the  sesame  of 
a  sad  voice  those  portals  spring  magically  back  ?  But 
for  his  sake  she  must  needs  pause  on  the  threshold 
of  attainment,  and  stifle  that  ambition  which  of  itself 
precluded  consideration  of  a  calm,  uneventful  exist- 
ence. She  was  young  and  full  of  courage,  but  the 
pathos  of  his  years  smote  her  heart ;  something  in- 
explicable had  awakened  her  fears  for  him;  she  be- 
lieved him  far  from  well  of  late,  although  he  laughed 
at  her  apprehensions  and  protested  he  had  never  been 
better  in  his  life. 

Now,  reading  the  anxiety  in  his  face  as  he  watched 
her,  she  smiled  reassuringly,  her  glance,  full  of  love, 
meeting  his. 

"Everything  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  she  said,  softly. 
"You  know  what  is  best !" 

The  manager's  face  lighted  perceptibly,  but  before 
he  could  answer,  the  door  opened,  and  Culver,  the 
attorney,  entered.  With  ruddy  countenance  and 
youthful  bearing,  in  antithesis  to  the  hair,  silvered 
with  white,  he  was  one  of  those  southern  gentlemen 
who  grow  old  gracefully.  The  law  was  his  task- 
master;  he  practised  from  a  sense  of  duty,  but  ever 
held  that  those  who  rushed  to  court  were  likely 
to  repeat  the  experience  of  Voltaire,  who  had  twice 
been  ruined:  once  when  he  lost  a  law  suit;  the  sec- 
ond time,  when  he  won  one!  Nevertheless,  people 
persisted  in  coming  to  Culver  wantonly  welcoming 
unknown  ills. 

"Well,    Miss    Carew,"    he    now    exclaimed,    after 


392  THE   STROLLERS 

warmly  greeting  his  visitors,  "have  you  disburdened 
yourself  of  prejudice  against  this  estate?  Wealth 
may  be  a  little  hardship  at  first,  but  soon  you  won't 
mind  it." 

"Not  a  bit  \"  spoke  up  Barnes.  "It's  as  easy  to  get 
used  to  as — poverty,  and  we've  had  plenty  of  that!" 

"You  know  the  other  condition?"  she  said,  half- 
defiantly,  half-sadly.  "You  are  to  be  with  me  al- 
ways." 

"How  can  you  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks?"  pro- 
tested Barnes.  "How  can  you  make  a  fine  man  about 
town  out  of  a  'heavy  father  ?' " 

"The  'heavy  father'  is  my  father.  I  never  knew  any 
other.  I  am  glad  I  never  did." 

"Hoity-toity !"  he  exclaimed  scoffingly,  but  pleased 
nevertheless. 

"You  can't  put  me  off  that  way,"  she  said,  decisive- 
ly, with  a  sudden  flash  in  her  eyes  he  knew  too  well 
to  cross.  "Either  you  leave  the  stage,  too,  or — " 

"Of  course,  my  dear,  of  course — " 

"Then  it's  all  settled  you  will  accept  the  encum- 
brance to  which  you  have  fallen  heir,"  resumed 
Culver.  "Even  if  there  had  been  no  will  in  your  fa- 
vor, the  State  of  Louisiana  follows  the  French  law, 
and  the  testator  can  under  no  circumstances  alienate 
more  than  half  his  property,  if  he  leave  issue  or  de- 
scendants. Had  the  old  will  remained,  its  provisions 
could  not  have  been  legally  carried  out." 

"The  old  will  ?"  said  Barnes.  "Then  there  was  an- 
other will?" 


THE   COURT-YARD  393 

"One  made  before  he  was  aware  of  your  existence, 
Miss  Carew,  in  favor  of  his  ward,  Ernest  Saint- 
Prosper." 

"Ernest  Saint-Prosper !" 

Constance's  cheeks  flamed  crimson,  and  her  quick 
start  of  surprise  did  not  escape  the  observant  lawyer. 
Barnes,  too,  looked  amazed  over  this  unexpected  in- 
telligence. 

"Saint-Prosper  was  the  marquis'  ward?"  he  cried. 

The  attorney  transferred  his  gaze  from  the  expres- 
sive features  of  his  fair  client  to  the  open  countenance 
of  the  manager.  "Yes,"  he  said. 

"And  would  have  inherited  this  property  but  for 
Constance  ?" 

"Exactly!     But  you  knew  him,  Mr.  Barnes?" 

"He  was  an  occupant  of  the  chariot,  sir,"  replied 
the  manager,  with  some  feeling.  "We  met  in  the 
Shadengo  Valley;  the  company  was  in  sore  straits, 
and — and — to  make  a  long  story  short ! — he  joined 
our  band  and  traversed  the  continent  with  us.  And 
so  he  was  the  marquis'  ward!  It  seems  almost  in- 
credible !" 

"Yes,"  affirmed  Culver;  "when  General  Saint- 
Prosper,  his  father,  died,  Ernest  Saint-Prosper,  who 
was  then  but  a  boy,  became  the  marquis'  ward  and  a 
member  of  his  household." 

"Well,  well,  how  things  do  come  about !"  ruminated 
Barnes.  "To  think  he  should  have  been  the  prospec- 
tive heir,  and  Constance,  the  real  one  1" 


394  THE    STROLLERS 

"Where  is  he  now?"  asked  the  attorney,  thought- 
fully. 

"He  has  gone  to  Mexico;  enlisted!  But  how  do 
you  know  he — " 

"Had  expectations?  The  marquis  told  me  about 
a  quarrel  they  had  had ;  he  was  a  staunch  imperialist ; 
the  young  man  as  firm  a  republican !  What  would 
be  the  natural  outcome  ?  They  parted  in  bitter  anger." 

"And  then  the  marquis  made  him  his  heir?"  ex- 
claimed the  manager,  incredulously.  "How  do  you 
reconcile  that?" 

The  attorney  smiled.  "Through  the  oddity  of  my 
client !  'Draw  up  my  will,'  said  the  marquis  to  me 
one  day,  'leaving  all  my  property  to  this  republican 
young  dog.  That  will  cut  off  the  distant  relatives 
who  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  behind  my  back  as 
though  I  were  the  evil  one.  They  expect  it  all ;  he 
expects  nothing!  It  will  be  a  rare  joke.  I  leave 
them  my  affection — and  the  privilege  of  having  masses 
said  for  my  soul.'  The  marquis  was  always  of  a 
satirical  temperament." 

"So  it  seems,"  commented  the  manager.  "But  he 
changed  his  mind  and  his  will  again?" 

"After  he  met  Miss  Carew." 

"Met  me!"  exclaimed  Constance,  aroused  from  a 
maze  of  reflection. 

"Near  the  cathedral!  He  walked  and  talked  with 
you." 

"That  poor  old  man — " 


THE   COURT-YARD  395 

"And  then  came  here,  acknowledged  you  as  his 
daughter,  and  drew  up  the  final  document." 

"That  accounts  for  a  call  I  had  from  him!"  cried 
Barnes,  telling  the  story  of  the  marquis'  visit. 
"Strange,  I  did  not  suspect  something  of  the  truth  at 
the  time,"  he  concluded,  "for  his  manner  was  certainly 
unusual." 

A  perplexed  light  shone  in  the  girl's  eyes;  she 
clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands  quickly,  turning  to 
the  lawyer. 

"Their  quarrel  was  only  a  political  difference?"  she 
asked  at  length. 

"Yes,"  said  the  other,  slowly.  "Saint-Prosper  re- 
fused to  support  the  fugitive  king.  Throughout  the 
parliamentary  government,  the  restoration  under 
Louis  XVIII,  and  the  reign  of  King  Charles  X,  the 
marquis  had  ever  a  devout  faith  in  the  divine  right 
of  monarchs.  He  annulled  his  marriage  in  England 
with  your  mother  to  marry  the  Duchesse  D'Argens,  a 
relative  of  the  royal  princess.  But  Charles  abdicated 
and  the  duchesse  died.  All  this,  however,  is  painful 
to  you,  Miss  Carew?" 

"Only  such  as  relates  to  my  mother,"  she  replied 
in  a  clear  tone.  "I  suppose  I  should  feel  grateful  for 
this  fortune,  but  I  am  afraid  I  do  not.  Please  go 
on." 

Culver  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  glance  bent 
upon  a  discolored  statue  of  Psyche  in  the  court-yard. 
"Had  the  marquis  attended  to  his  garden,  like  Can- 


396  THE    STROLLERS 

dide,  of  your  humble  servant,  and  eschewed  the  com- 
pany of  kings  he  might  have  been  as  care-free  as  he 
was  wretched.  His  monarchs  were  knocked  down 
like  nine-pins.  Louis  XVIII  was  a  man  of  straw; 
Charles  X,  a  feather-top,  and  Louis  Philippe,  a  toy 
ruler.  The  marquis'  domestic  life  was  as  unblest  as 
his  political  career.  The  frail  duchesse  left  him  a 
progeny  of  scandals.  These,  the  only  offspring  of 
the  iniquitous  dame,  were  piquantly  dressed  in  the 
journals  for  public  parade.  Fancy,  then,  his  delight 
in  disinheriting  his  wife's  relatives,  and  leaving  you, 
his  daughter,  his  fortune  and  his  name !" 

"His  name?"  she  repeated,  sadly.  With  averted 
face  she  watched  the  fountain  in  the  garden.  "If  he 
had  given  it  to  my  mother,"  she  continued,  "but 
now — I  do  not  care  for  it.  Her  name  is  all  I  want." 
Her  voice  trembled  and  she  exclaimed  passionately : 
"I  should  rather  Mr.  Saint-Prosper  would  keep  the 
property  and  I — my  work !  After  denying  my  mother 
and  deserting  -her,  how  can  I  accept  anything  from 
him?" 

"Under  the  new  will/'  said  Culver,  "the  estate  does 
not  revert  to  Mr.  Saint-Prosper  in  any  event.  But 
you  might  divide  it  with  him?"  he  added,  suddenly. 

"How  could  I  do  that?"  she  asked,  without  looking 
up. 

"Marry  him !"  laughed  the  attorney. 

But  the  jest  met  with  scant  response,  his  fair  client 
remaining  motionless  as  a  statue,  while  Barnes  gazed 
at  her  furtively.  Culver's  smile  gradually  faded;  un- 


THE   COURT-YARD 


397 


certain  how  to  proceed,  realizing  his  humor  had  some- 
how miscarried,  he  was  not  sorry  when  the  manager 
arose,  saying: 

/'Well,  my  dear,  it  is  time  we  were  at  the  theater." 
"Won't  you  accept  this  nosegay  from  my  garden, 
Miss  Carew  ?"  urged  the  lawyer  in  a  propitiatory  tone 
as  they  were  leaving. 

And  the  attorney  not  only  accompanied  them  to  the 
door,  but  down-stairs  to  the  street,  where  he  stood 
for  a  moment  watching  them  drive  down  the  thor- 
oughfare. Then  he  slowly  returned,  breathing  heav- 
ily— invidious  contradiction  of  his  youthful  assump- 
tion!— and  shaking  his  head,  as  he  mounted  to  his 
room. 

"Culver,  you  certainly  put  your  foot  in  it  that  time !" 
he  muttered.  "How  she  froze  at  my  suggestion !  Has 
there  been  some  passage  of  arms  between  them?  Ap- 
parently! But  here  am  I,  pondering  over  romances 
with  all  this  legal  business  staring  me  in  the  face!" 
His  glance  swept  a  chaos  of  declarations,  bills,  affida- 
vits and  claims.  "Confound  the  musty  old  court- 
house and  the  bustling  Yankee  lawyers  who  set  such 
a  disturbing  pace!  There  is  no  longer  gentlemanly 
leisure  in  New  Orleans." 

He  seated  himself  with  a  sigh  before  a  neg- 
lected brief.  In  the  distance  the  towers  of  the  cathe- 
dral could  be  seen,  reminding  the  attorney  of  the  ad- 
jacent halls  of  justice  in  the  scraggy-looking  square, 
with  its  turmoil,  its  beggars,  and  apple  women  in  the 
lobbies;  its  ancient,  offensive  smell,  its  rickety  stairs, 


398  THE    STROLLERS 

its  labyrinth  of  passages  and  its  Babel  of  tongues. 
Above  him,  however,  the  plaster  bust  of  Justinian,  out 
of  those  blank,  sightless  eyes,  continued  the  contem- 
plation of  the  garden  as  though  turning  from  the 
complex  jurisprudence  of  the  ancients  and  moderns 
to  the  simple  existence  of  butterflies  and  flowers. 


CHAPTER    II 

ONLY   A    SHADOW 

There  is  an  aphorism  to  the  effect  that  one  can  not 
spend  and  have;  also,  a  saying  about  the  whirlwind, 
both  of  which  in  time  came  home  to  the  land  baron. 
For  several  generations  the  Mauville  family,  bearing 
one  of  the  proudest  names  in  Louisiana,  had  held 
marked  prestige  under  Spanish  and  French  rule,  while 
extensive  plantations  indicated  the  commercial  ascend- 
ency of  the  patroon's  ancestors.  The  thrift  of  his  fore- 
fathers, however,  passed  lightly  over  Edward  Mau- 
ville. Sent  to  Paris  by  his  mother,  a  widow,  who 
could  deny  him  nothing,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  he 
had  squandered  two  plantations  and  several  hundred 
negroes.  Her  death  placed  him  in  undisputed  posses- 
sion of  the  residue  of  the  estate,  when  finding  the  ex- 
acting details  of  commerce  irksome,  in  a  moment  of 
weakness,  he  was  induced  to  dispose  of  some  of  his 
possessions  to  Yankee  speculators  who  had  come  in 
with  the  flood  of  northern  energy.  Most  of  the  money 
thus  realized  he  placed  in  loose  investments,  while  the 
(399) 


400  THE    STROLLERS 

remainder  gradually  disappeared  in  indulging  his 
pleasures. 

At  this  critical  stage  in  his  fortunes — or  misfor- 
tunes— the  patroon's  legacy  had  seemed  timely,  and 
his  trip  to  the  North  followed.  But  from  a  swarm  of 
creditors,  to  a  nest  of  anti-renters,  was  out  of  the 
frying-pan  into  the  fire,  hastening  his  return  to  the 
Crescent  City,  where  he  was  soon  forced  to  make  an 
assignment  of  the  remaining  property.  A  score  of 
hungry  lawyers  hovered  around  the  sinking  estate, 
greedily  jealous  lest  some  one  of  their  number  should 
batten  too  gluttonously  at  this  general  collation.  It 
was  the  one  topic  of  interest  in  the  musty,  dusty  court- 
house until  the  end  appeared  with  the  following  an- 
nouncement in  the  local  papers : 

"Annonce!  Vente  important e  de  Negres!  Mau- 
ville  estate  in  bankruptcy !" 

And  thereafter  were  specified  the  different  lots  of 
negroes  to  be  sold. 

Coincident  with  these  disasters  came  news  from  the 
North  regarding  his  supposedly  immense  interests  in 
New  York  State.  A  constitutional  convention  had 
abolished  all  feudal  tenures  and  freed  the  fields  from 
baronial  burdens.  At  a  breath — like  a  house  of  cards 
— the  northern  heritage  was  swept  away  and  about 
all  that  remained  of  the  principality  was  the  worthless 
ancient  deed  itself,  representing  one  of  the  largest 
colonial  grants. 

But  even  the  sale  of  the  negroes  and  his  other 
merchandise  and  property  failed  to  satisfy  his  clamor- 


ONLY   A   SHADOW  401 

ous  creditors  or  to  pay  his  gambling  debts.  Those 
obligations  at  cards  it  was  necessary  to  meet,  so  he 
moved  out  of  his  bachelor  apartments,  turned  over 
his  expensive  furnishings  and  bric-a-brac  to  the  gam- 
blers and  snapped  his  fingers  at  the  over-anxious  con- 
stables and  lawyers. 

As  time  went  by  evidence  of  his  reverses  insidiously 
crept  into  his  personal  appearance.  He  who  had  been 
the  leader  now  clung  to  the  tail-ends  of  style,  and  it 
was  a  novel  sensation  when  one  day  he  noticed  a  friend 
scrutinizing  his  garments  much  in  the  same  critical 
manner  that  he  had  himself  erstwhile  affected.  This 
glance  rested  casually  on  the  hat ;  strayed  carelessly  to 
the  waistcoat ;  wandered  absently  to  the  trousers,  down 
one  leg  and  up  the  other;  superciliously  jumped  over 
the  waistcoat  and  paused  the  infinitesimal  part  of  a 
second  on  the  neck-tie.  Mauville  learned  in  that  mo- 
ment how  the  eye  may  wither  and  humble,  without 
giving  any  ostensible  reason  for  offense.  The  attitude 
of  this  mincing  fribble,  as  he  danced  twittingly  away, 
was  the  first  intimation  Mauville  had  received  that  he 
would  soon  be  relegated  to  the  ranks  of  gay  adven- 
turers thronging  the  city.  He  who  had  watched  his 
estates  vanish  with  an  unruffled  countenance  now  be- 
came disconcerted  over  the  width  of  his  trousers  and 
the  shape  of  his  hat. 

His  new  home  was  in  the  house  of  an  aged 
quadroon  who  had  been  a  servant  in  his  family  many 
years  ago — how  long  no  one  seemed  to  remember!— 
and  who  had  been  his  nurse  before  she  had  received 


402  THE   STROLLERS 

her  freedom.  She  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  being 
feared  in  the  neighborhood;  her  fetishes  had  a  power 
no  other  witch's  possessed,  and  many  of  the  negroes 
would  have  done  anything  to  have  possessed  these 
infallible  charms,  save  crossing  her  threshold  to  get 
them.  Mauville,  when  he  found  fortune  slipping 
away  from  him  and  ruin  staring  him  in  the  face,  had 
been  glad  to  transfer  his  abode  to  this  unhallowed 
place;  going  into  hiding,  as  it  were,  until  the  storm 
should  blow  by,  when  he  expected  to  emerge,  confi- 
dent as  ever. 

But  inaction  soon  chafed  his  restless  nature,  and 
drove  him  forth  in  spite  of  himself  from  the  streets 
in  that  quarter  of  the  town  where  the  roofs  of  vari- 
ous-colored houses  formed  strange  geometrical  figures 
and  the  windows  were  bright  with  flaring  head-dresses, 
beneath  which  looked  out  curious  visages  of  ebony. 
Returning  one  day  from  such  a  peregrination,  he  de- 
termined to  end  a  routine  of  existence  so  humiliating 
to  his  pride. 

Pausing  before  a  doorway,  the  land  baron  looked 
this  way  and  that,  and  seeing  only  the  rotating  eyes 
of  a  pickaninny  fastened  upon  him,  hurried  through 
the  entrance.  Hanging  upon  the  walls  were  red  and 
green  pods  and  bunches  of  dried  herbs  of  unquestion- 
able virtue  belonging  to  the  old  crone's  pharma- 
copoeia. Mauville  slowly  ascended  the  dark  stairs 
and  reached  his  retreat,  a  small  apartment,  with  furni- 
ture of  cane-work  and  floor  covered  with  sea-grass; 


ONLYASHADOW  403 

the  ceiling  low  and  the  windows  narrow,  opening-  upon 
a  miniature  balcony  that  offered  space  for  one  and  no 
more. 

"Is  dat  yo',  honey?"  said  an  adoring  voice  on  the 
landing. 

"Yes,  auntie,"  replied  the  land  baron,  as  an  old 
crone  emerged  from  an  ill-lighted  recess  and  stood 
before  him. 

Now  the  light  from  the  doorway  fell  upon  her,  and 
surely  five  score  years  were  written  on  her  curiously 
wrinkled  face — five  score,  or  more,  for  even  the  ne- 
groes did  not  profess  to  know  how  old  she  was.  Her 
bent  figure,  watery  eyes  and  high  shrill  voice  bore 
additional  testimony  to  her  age. 

"Yo's  home  earlier  dan  usual,  dearie?"  she  resumed. 
"But  yo'  supper's  all  ready.  Sit  down  here." 

"I'm  not  hungry,  auntie,"  he  returned. 

"Not  hungry,  honey?"  she  cried,  laughing  shrilly. 
"Yo'  wait!"  And  she  disappeared  into  an  adjoining 
room,  soon  to  emerge  with  a  steaming  platter,  which 
she  set  on  the  snow-white  cover  of  the  little  table. 
Removing  the  lid  from  the  dish,  she  hobbled  back  a 
few  steps  to  regard  her  guest  with  triumphant  ex- 
pectation. "Dat  make  yo'  eat." 

"What  a  cook  you  are,  mammy!"  he  said,  lightly. 
"You  would  give  a  longing  tooth  to  satiety." 

"De  debil  blow  de  fire,"  she  answered,  chuckling. 

"Then  the  devil  is  a  chef  de  cuisine.  This  sauce 
is  bewitching." 


404  THE    STROLLERS 

"Yo'  like  it?"     Delighted. 

"Tis  a  spell  in  itself.  Confess,  mammy,  Old  Nick 
mixed  it?" 

"No,  he  only  blow  de  fire,"  she  reiterated,  with  a 
grin. 

"Any  one  been  to  see  me,  mammy  ?" 

"Only  dat  Mexican  gemmen ;  dat  gemmen  been 
here  befo'  who  take  yo'  message  about  de  troops; 
when  dey  go  from  New  Orleans;  how  many  dey 
am!" 

"You  know  that,  auntie?"  he  asked  quickly.  "You 
know  that  I — " 

"Yes,  honey,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head. 
"Yo'  be  berry  careful,  Mar's'r  Edward." 

"What  did  he  want?"  said  the  land  baron,  quickly. 

"He  gib  me  dis."  And  the  crone  handed  her  vis- 
itor a  slip  of  paper  on  which  a  few  words  were 
written.  "What  dat  mean?" 

"It  means  I  am  going  away,  mammy,"  pushing 
back  his  chair. 

"Gwine  away  !"  she  repeated.     "When's  yo'  gwine?" 

"To-morrow ;  perhaps  to-night  even ;  down  the 
river,  auntie!"  Rising  and  surveying  himself  in  a 
mirror. 

"How  long  yo'  gwine  away  foh  ?" 

"Perhaps  forever,  auntie!" 

"Not  foh  good,  Mar's'r  Edward?  Not  foh  good?" 
He  nodded  and  she  broke  into  loud  waitings.  "Yo's 
gwine  and  yo'  old  mammy'll  see  yo'  no  moh — no  moh ! 
I  knows  why  yo's  gwine,  Mar's'r  Edward.  Fs  heard 


ONLY   A   SHADOW 


405 


yo'  talkin'  about  her  in  yo'  sleep.  But  yo'  stay  and 
yo'  mammy  has  a  love-charm  foh  yo';  den  she's  yo's, 
foh  suah." 

This  offer,  coming-  from  one  of  her  uncanny  reputa- 
tion, would  have  been  accepted  with  implicit  faith 
by  most  of  the  dwellers  in  that  locality,  superstitious 
to  the  last  degree,  but  Mauville  laughed  carelessly. 

"Pshaw,  mammy!  Do  you  think  I  would  fly  from 
a  woman?  Do  I  look  as  though  I  needed  a  charm?" 

"No;  she  mus'  worship  yo'!"  cried  the  infatuated 
crone. 

Then  a  change  passed  over  her  puckered  face  and 
she  lifted  her  arms  despairingly,  rocking  her  body  to 
and  fro,  while  she  mumbled  unintelligible  words  which 
would  have  caused  the  negroes  to  draw  away  from 
her  with  awe,  for  the  spell  was  on  her.  But  the  land 
baron  only  regarded  her  carelessly  as  she  muttered 
something  pertaining  to  spells  and  omena. 

"Come,  auntie,"  he  said  impatiently  at  last,  "you 
know  I  don't  believe  in  this  torn-foolery." 

She  turned  to  him  vehemently.  "Don't  go  whar 
yo'  thinkin'  ob  gwine,  honey,"  she  implored.  "Yo'll 
nebber  come  back,  foh  suah — foh  suah!  I  see  yo' 
lyin'  dar,  honey,  in  de  dark  valley — whar  de  mists 
am  risin' — and  I  hears  a  bugle  soundin' — and  de 
tramp  of  horses.  Dey  am  all  gone,  honey — and  de  mists 
come  back — but  yo'  am  dar — lying  dar — de  mountains 
around  yo' — yo'  am  dar  fo'ebber  and  ebber  and— 
Here  she  broke  into  wild  sobbing  and  moaning,  toss- 
ing her  white  hair  with  her  trembling  withered  arms, 


406  THE   STROLLERS 

a  moving  picture  of  an  inspired  dusky  sibyl.  Mau- 
ville  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"We're  losing  time,  mammy,"  he  exclaimed.  "Stop 
this  nonsense  and  go  pack  a  few  things  for  me.  I 
have  some  letters  to  write." 

The  old  woman  reluctantly  obeyed,  and  the  land 
baron  penned  a  somewhat  lengthy  epistle  to  his  one- 
time master  in  Paris,  the  Abbe  Moneau,  whose  disap- 
proval of  the  Anglo-Saxon  encroachments — witness 
Louisiana ! — and  zeal  for  the  colonization  of  the  Latin 
races  are  matters  of  history.  Having  completed  his 
epistle,  the  land  baron  placed  it  in  the  old  crone's  hand 
to  mail  with:  "If  that  man  calls  again,  tell  him  I'll 
meet  him  to-night,"  and-,  leaving  the  room,  shot 
through  the  doorway,  once  more  rapidly  walking 
down  the  shabby  thoroughfare.  The  aged  negro 
woman  stumbled  out  upon  the  balcony  and  gazed  after 
the  departing  figure  still  moaning  softly  to  herself 
and  shaking  her  head  in  anguish. 

"Fo'ebber  and  ebber,"  she  repeated  in  a  wailing 
tone.  Below  a  colored  boy  gazed  at  her  in  wonder- 
ment. 

"What  debblement  am  she  up  to  now?"  he  said  to 
a  girl  seated  in  a  doorway.  "When  de  old  witch 
am  like  dat — " 

"Come  in  dar,  yo'  black  imp!"  And  a  vigorous 
arm  pulled  the  lad  abruptly  through  the  opening. 
"Ef  she  sees  yo',  she  can  strike  yo'  dead,  foh  suah!" 

The  crone  could  no  longer  distinguish  Mauville — 
her  eyes  were  nearly  sightless — but  she  continued  to 


ONLYASHADOW  407 

look  in  the  direction  he  had  taken,  sobbing-  as  before : 
"Fo'ebber  and  ebber !  Fo'ebber  and  ebber !" 

Once  more  upon  a  fashionable  thoroughfare,  the 
land  baron's  footstep  relaxed  and  he  relapsed  into  his 
languorous,  indolent  air.  The  shadows  of  twilight 
were  darkening  the  streets  and  a  Caribbee-scentecl 
breeze  was  wafted  from  the  gulf  across  the  city.  It 
swept  through  the  broad  avenues  and  narrow  high- 
ways, and  sighed  among  the  trees  of  the  old  garden. 
Seating  himself  absently  on  one  of  the  public 
benches,  Mauville  removed  his  hat  to  allow  the  cool 
air  to  fan  his  brow.  Presently  he  moved  on ;  up 
Canal  Street,  where  the  long  rows  of  gas  lights  now 
gleamed  through  the  foliage ;  thence  into  a  side  thor- 
oughfare, as  dark  as  the  other  street  was  bright,  paus- 
ing before  a  doorway,  illumined  by  a  single  yellow 
flame  that  flickered  in  the  draft  and  threatened  to 
leave  the  entrance  in  total  obscurity.  Mounting  two 
flights  of  stairs,  no  better  lighted  than  the  hall  below, 
the  land  baron  reached  a  doorway,  where  he  paused 
and  knocked.  In  answer  to  his  summons  a  slide  was 
quickly  slipped  back,  and  through  the  aperture  floated 
an  alcoholic  breath. 

"Who  is  it?" 

"A  Knight  of  the  Golden  Square,"  said  the  caller, 
impatiently.  "Open  the  door." 

The  man  obeyed  and  the  land  baron  was  admitted 
to  the  hall  of  an  organization  which  had  its  inception 
in  Texas;  a  society  not  unlike  the  Secret  Session 
Legation  of  the  Civil  War,  having  for  its  object  the 


4o8  THE    STROLLERS 

overthrow  of  the  government,  the  carrying  of  mails 
and  despatches  and  other  like  business.  Here  was 
gathered  a  choice  aggregation  of  Mexican  sympathiz- 
ers, a  conclave  hostile  to  the  North.  Composed  of 
many  nationalities,  the  polished  continental  adven- 
turer rubbed  shoulders  with  the  Spanish  politicians ; 
the  swarthy  agents  of  Santa  Anna  brushed  against  the 
secret  enemies  of  northern  aggression.  A  small  bar, 
unpretentious  but  convenient,  occupied  a  portion  of 
one  end  of  the  room,  and  a  brisk  manipulator  of  juleps 
presided  over  this  popular  corner. 

Half-disdainfully,  the  land  baron  mingled  with  the 
heterogeneous  assembly;  half-ironically,  his  eye 
swept  the  group  at  the  bar — the  paid  spy,  the  needy 
black-sheep ;  the  patriot,  the  swashbuckler ;  men  with 
and  without  a  career.  As  Mauville  stepped  forward,  a 
quiet,  dark-looking  man,  obviously  a  Mexican,  not 
without  a  certain  distinguished  carriage,  immediately 
approached  the  newcomer. 

"You  have  come  ?  Good !"  he  said,  and  drew  Mau- 
ville aside.  They  conversed  in  low  tones,  occasionally 
glancing  about  them  at  the  others. 

In  the  hall  below  the  rhythm  of  a  waltz  now  made 
itself  heard,  and  the  land  baron,  having  received  cer- 
tain papers  which  committed  him  to  a  hazardous  serv- 
ice, prepared  to  leave. 

"Here's  luck!"  said  a  man  on  his  left,  raising  his 
glass.  At  these  words  several  of  the  company 
turned. 


ONLY   A   SHADOW 


409 


"Send  it  south !"  roared  a  Texan  Furioso,  emptying 
his  tumbler. 

"Send  it  south !"  echoed  the  others,  and  "south"  the 
fragrant  juleps  were  "sent,"  as  the  land  baron  uncere- 
moniously tore  himself  away  from  the  group. 

"They  say  the  floods  are  rising,"  said  the  man  with 
whom  Mauville  had  conferred,  at  the  door. 

"All  the  better  if  the  river's  running  wild!"  an- 
swered the  other.  "It  will  be  easier  running  the 
guard." 

"Yes,"  returned  the  Mexican,  extending  his  hand, 
with  a  smile;  "in  this  case,  there's  safety  in  dan- 
ger!" 

"That's  reassuring !"  replied  the  land  baron,  lightly, 
as  he  descended  the  stairs. 

On  reaching  the  floor  below  he  was  afforded  a 
view  through  an  open  door  into  a  large  room,  lighted 
with  many  lamps,  where  a  quadroon  dance,  or  "soci- 
ety ball,"  was  in  progress.  After  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion he  entered  and  stood  in  the  glare,  watching  the 
waltzers.  Around  the  wall  were  dusky  chaperons, 
guarding  their  charges  with  the  watchfulness  of  old 
dowagers  protecting  their  daughters  from  the  ad- 
vances of  younger  sons.  Soft  eyes  flashed  invitingly, 
graceful  figures  passed,  and  the  revelry  momentarily 
attracted  Mauville,  as  he  followed  the  movements  of 
the  waltzers  and  heard  the  strains  of  music.  Im- 
pulsively he  approached  a  young  woman  whose  com- 
plexion was  as  light  as  his  own  and  asked  her  to  dance. 


410  THE    STROLLERS 

The  next  moment  they  were  gliding  to  the  dreamy 
rhythm  around  the  room. 

By  a  fatal  trick  of  imagination,  his'  thoughts  wan- 
dered to  the  dark-haired  girl  he  had  met  in  the  Sha- 
dengo  Valley.  If  this  now  were  she,  the  partner  he 
had  so  unceremoniously  summoned  to  his  side.  How 
light  were  her  feet;  what  poetry  of  motion  was  her 
dancing;  what  pleasure  the  abandonment  to  which 
she  had  resigned  herself!  Involuntarily  he  clasped 
more  tightly  the  slender  waist,  and  the  dark  eyes, 
moved  by  that  palpable  caress,  looked  not  unkindly  into 
his  own.  But  at  the  glance  he  experienced  a  strange 
repulsion  and  started,  as  if  awakening  from  a  fevered 
sleep,  abruptly  stopping  in  the  dance,  his  arm  falling  to 
his  side.  The  girl  looked  at  him  half-shyly,  half- 
boldly,  and  the  very  beauty  of  her  eyes — the  deep, 
lustrous  orbs  of  a  quadroon — smote  him  mockingly. 
He  felt  as  though  some  light  he  sought  shone  far  be- 
yond his  ken ;  a  light  he  saw,  but  could  never  reach ; 
ever  before  him,  but  always  receding. 

"Monsieur  is  tired?"  said  the  girl,  in  a  puzzled 
tone. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  bluntly,  leading  her  to  a  seat. 
"Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  she  replied,  following  his  retreating 
figure  with  something  like  regret. 

The  evening  bells,  distinct  and  mysterious,  were 
sounding  as  he  emerged  from  New  Orleans'  Mabillc, 
and  their  crystalline  tones,  rising  and  falling  on  the 
solemn  night,  brought  to  mind  his  boyhood.  Pictures 


ONLY  A   SHADOW  411 

long  forgotten  passed  before  him,  as  his  footsteps  led 
him  far  from  the  brightly-lighted  streets  to  a  seques- 
tered thoroughfare  that  lay  peacefully  on  the  con- 
fines of  the  busy  city;  a  spot  inviting  rest  from  the 
turmoil  yonder  and  in  accord  with  the  melancholy 
vibrations  of  the  bells.  He  stood,  unseen  in  the 
shadow  of  great  trees,  before  a  low  rambling  man- 
sion; not  so  remote  but  that  the  perfume  from  the 
garden  was  wafted  to  him  over  the  hedge. 

"A  troubadour!"  he  said  scornfully  to  himself. 
"Edward  Mauville  sighing  at  a  lady's  window  like 
some  sentimental  serenader!  There's  a  light  yonder. 
Now  to  play  my  despairing  part,  I  must  watch  for  her 
image.  If  I  were  some  one  else,  I  should  say  my  heart 
beats  faster  than  usual.  She  comes — the  fair  lady! 
Now  the  curtain's  down.  All  that  may  be  seen  is  her 
shadow.  So,  despairing  lover,  hug  that  shadow  to 
your  breast!" 

He  plucked  a  rose  from  a  bush  in  her  garden,  laugh- 
ing at  himself  the  while  for  doing  so,  and  as  he  moved 
away  he  repeated  with  conviction : 

"A  shadow !  That  is  all  she  ever  could  have  been 
to  me!"  • 


CHAPTER    III 

FROM     GARRET     TO     GARDEN 

"Celestina,  what  do  you  think  this  is?"  Waving 
something  that  crackled  in  mid  air. 

"A  piece  of  paper,"  said  Celestina  from  her  place 
on  the  hearth. 

"Paper!"  scoffed  Straws.  "It's  that  which  Horace 
calls  a  handmaid,  if  you  know  how  to  use  it;  a  mis- 
tress, if  you  do  not — money!  It  is — success,  the 
thing  which  wrecks  more  lives  than  cyclones,  fares  and 
floods!  We  were  happy  enough  before  this  came, 
weren't  we,  Celestina?" 

The  girl  nodded  her  head,  a  look  of  deep  anxiety 
in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  why  did  the  critics  so  damn  the  book  it  fairly 
leaped  to  popularity!"  went  on  the  bard.  "Why  did 
they  advise  me  to  learn  a  trade?  to  spoil  no  more 
reams  of  paper?  To  spoil  reams  of  paper  and  get 
what — this  little  bit  in  return  !" 

"Is  it  so  very  much  money?"  asked  Celestina. 

"An    enormous    amount — one    thousand     dollars! 


GARRET   TO    GARDEN  413 

And  the  worst  of  it  is,  my  publishers  write  there  may 
be  more  to  come/' 

"Well,"  said  the  child,  after  a  long,  thoughtful 
pause,  "why  don't  you  give  it  away  ?" 

"Hum !     Your  suggestion,  my  dear — " 

"But,  perhaps,  no  one  would  take  it?"  interrupted 
Celestina. 

"Perhaps  they  wouldn't!"  agreed  Straws,  rubbing 
his  hands.  "So,  under  the  circumstances,  let  us  con- 
sider how  we  may  cultivate  some  of  the  vices  of  the 
rich.  It  is  a  foregone  conclusion,  set  down  by  the 
philosophers,  that  misery  assails  riches.  The  philos- 
ophers were  never  rich  and  therefore  they  know.  Be- 
sides, they  are  unanimous  on  the  subject.  It  only 
remains  to  make  the  best  of  it  and  cultivate  the  vani- 
ties of  our  class.  Where  shall  I  begin?  'Riches  be- 
tray man  into  arrogance/  saith  Addison.  Therefore 
will  I  be  arrogant;  while  you,  my  dear,  shall  be 
proud." 

"That  will  be  lovely !"  assented  Celestina,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  habit.  She  went  to  the  bed  and  began  smooth- 
ing the  sheets  deftly. 

"My  dear!"  expostulated  Straws.  "You  mustn't 
do  that." 

"Not  make  the  bed !"  she  asked,  in  surprise. 

"No." 

"Nor  bring  your  charcoal?" 

"No."' 

"Nor  wash  your  dishes?" 

"Certainly  not!" 


414  THE   STROLLERS 

Celestina  dropped  on  the  floor,  a  picture  of  misery. 

"Too  bad,  isn't  it?"  commented  Straws.  "But  it 
can't  be  helped,  can  it?" 

"No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  wofully ;  "it 
can't  be  helped !  But  why — why  did  you  publish  it  ?" 

"Just  what  the  critics  asked,  my  dear!  Why? 
Who  knows?  Who  can  tell  why  the  gods  invented 
madness?  But  it's  done;  for  bad,  or  worse!" 

"For  bad,  or  worse !"  she  repeated,  gazing  wist- 
fully toward  the  rumpled  bed. 

"If  somebody  tells  you  fine  feathers  don't  make  fine 
birds,  don't  believe  him,"  continued  the  poet.  "It's 
envy  that  speaks !  But  what  do  you  suppose  I  have 
here?"  Producing  a  slip  of  paper  from  his  vest 
pocket.  "No ;  it's  not  another  draft !  An  advertise- 
ment !  Listen  :  'Mademoiselle  de  Castiglione's  select 
seminary.  Young  ladies  instructed  in  the  arts  of  the 
bon  ton.  Finesse,  repose,  literature!  Fashions,  eti- 
quette, languages!  P.  S.  Polkas  a  specialty!'  Ce- 
lestina, your  destiny  lies  at  Mademoiselle  de  Castigli- 
one's. They  will  teach  you  to  float  into  a  drawing 
room — but  you  won't  forget  the  garret  ?  They  will  in- 
struct you  how  to  sit  on  gilt  chairs — you  will  think 
sometimes  of  the  box,  or  the  place  by  the  hearth  ?  You 
will  become  a  mistress  of  the  piano — 'By  the  Coral 
Strands  I  Wander,'  'The  Sweet  Young  Bachelor' — 
but  I  trust  you  will  not  learn  to  despise  altogether 
the  attic  pipe  ?" 

"You  mean,"  said  Celestina,  slowly,  her  face  ex- 


GARRET    TO    GARDEN  415 

pressing  bewilderment,  "I  must  go  away  some- 
where ?" 

Straws  nodded.     "That's  it ;  somewhere !" 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed;  her  little  hands  clenched. 
"I  won't;  I  won't!" 

"Then  that's  the  end  on't!"  retorted  the  bard.  "I 
had  bought  you  some  new  dresses,  a  trunk  with  your 
name  on  it,  and  had  made  arrangements  with  Made- 
moiselle de  Castiglione  (who  had  read  'Straws' 
Strophes'),  but  perhaps  I  could  give  the  dresses  away 
to  some  other  little  girl  who  will  be  glad  to  drink  at 
the  Pierian — I  mean,  the  Castiglione — spring." 

Celestina's  eyes 'were  an  agony  of  jealousy;  not 
that  she  was  mercenary,  or  cared  for  the  dresses,  but 
that  Straws  should  give  them  to  another  little  girl. 
Her  pride,  however,  held  her  in  check  and  she  drew 
herself  up  with  composure. 

"That  would  be  nice — for  the  other  little  girl !"  she 
said. 

"The  only  difficulty  is,"  resumed  Straws,  "there 
isn't  any  other  little  girl." 

At  that,  Celestina  gave  a  glad  cry  and  flew  to  him, 
throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Oh,  I  will  go  anywhere  you  want !"  she  exclaimed. 

"Get  on  your  bonnet  then — before  you  change  your 
mind,  my  dear !" 

"And  aunt?"  asked  Celestina,  lingering-  doubtfully 
on  the  threshold. 

"Your  aunt,  as  you  call  that  shriveled-up  shrew, 


416  THE    STROLLERS 

consented  at  once,"  answered  Straws.  "Her  parental 
heart  was  filled  with  thanksgiving  at  the  prospect  of 
one  less  mouth  to  fill.  Go  and  say  good-by,  however, 
to  the  old  harridan ;  I  think  she  has  a  few  conven- 
tional tears  to  shed.  But  do  not  let  her  prolong  her 
grief  inordinately,  and  meet  me  at  the  front  door." 

A  few  moments  later,  Straws  and  the  child,  hand- 
in-hand,  started  on  their  way  to  the  Castiglione  tem- 
ple of  learning  and  culture.  If  Celestina  appeared 
thoughtful,  even  sad,  the  poet  was  never  so  merry, 
and  sought  to  entertain  the  abstracted  girl  with  spark- 
ling chit-chat  about  the  people  they  met  in  the 
crowded  streets.  A  striking  little  man  was  a  com- 
poser of  ability,  whose  operas,  "Cosimo,"  "Les  Pon- 
tons de  Cadiz,"  and  other  works  had  been  produced 
at  the  Opera  Comique  in  Paris.  He  was  now  direc- 
tor of  the  French  opera  in  New  Orleans  and  had 
brought  out  the  charming  Mademoiselle  Capriceioso 
and  the  sublime  Signer  Staccato.  The  lady  by  his 
side,  a  dark  brunette  with  features  that  were  still  beau- 
tiful, was  the  nimble-footed  Madame  Feu-de-joie, 
whose  shapely  limbs  and  graceful  motions  had  de- 
lighted two  generations  and  were  like  to  appeal  to  a 
third.  Men  who  at  twenty  had  thrown  Feu-de-joie 
posies,  now  bald  but  young  as  ever,  tossed  her  roses. 

"I  don't  like  that  lady,"  said  Celestina,  emphatic- 
ally, when  the  dancer  had  passed  on,  after  petting  her 
and  kissing  her  on  the  cheek. 

"Now,  it's  curious,"  commented  the  bard,  "but  your 
sex  never  did." 


GARRET   TO   GARDEN  417 

"Do  men  like  her?"  asked  the  child,  with  prema- 
ture penetration. 

"They  did;  they  do;  they  will!"  answered  Straws, 
epigrammatically. 

"Do  you  like  her  ?" 

"Oh,  that's  different!  Poets,  you  know,  are  the 
exception  to  any  rule." 

"Why?" 

"Because —  Really,  my  dear,  you  ask  too  many 
questions !" 

Although  Straws  and  Celestina  had  left  the  house 
early  in  the  day,  it  was  noon  before  they  reached  the 
attractive  garden,  wherein  was  sequestered  the  "select 
seminary." 

In  this  charming  prison,  whose  walls  were  overrun 
with  flowering  vines,  and  whose  cells  were  pretty 
vestal  bowers,  entered  the  bard  and  the  young  girl,  to 
be  met  on  the  front  porch  by  the  wardeness  herself,  a 
mite  of  a  woman,  with  wavy  yellow  hair,  fine  com- 
plexion and  washed-out  blue  eyes.  Sensitive  almost 
to  shyness,  Mademoiselle  de  Castiglione  appeared 
more  adapted  for  the  seclusion  of  the  veil  in  the 
Ursuline  Church  than  for  the  varied  responsibilities  of 
a  young  ladies'  institute.  At  the  approach  of  the 
poet,  she  turned,  looked  startled,  but  finally  came  for- 
ward bravely. 

"Oh,  I've  read  it  again,  Mr.  Straws!"  she  ex- 
claimed, impetuously. 

"What  ?"  he  returned,  sternly,  pausing  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps. 


4i8  THE    STROLLERS 

"Your — your  lovely  Strophes!"  she  continued,  tim- 
idly. 

The  bard  frowned.  "All  great  men  profess  to 
scowl  at  flattery,"  thought  Straws.  "She  will  have 
but  a  poor  opinion  of  me,  if  I  do  not  appear  an 
offended  Hector!" 

"Mademoiselle,  I  excessively  dislike  compliments," 
he  began  aloud,  but  having  gone  thus  far,  his  courage 
and  lack  of  chivalry  failed  him  in  the  presence  of  her 
dismay;  he  forgot  his  greatness,  and  hastened  to  add, 
with  an  ingratiating  smile:  "Except  when  delivered 
by  such  a  charming  person !" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Straws !" 

"This,  Mademoiselle,"  resumed  the  bard,  "is  the 
young  girl  I  spoke  about.  Her  mother,"  he  added  in 
a  low  voice,  "was  a  beautiful  quadroon ;  her  father" 
— here  Straws  mentioned  a  name.  The  wardeness 
flushed  furiously.  "Father  died;  always  meant  to 
make  it  right;  didn't;  crime  of  good  intentions! 
Virago  of  an  aunt ;  regular  termagant ;  hates  the  girl ! 
Where  was  a  home  to  be  found  for  her?  Where" — 
gazing  around  him — "save  this — Eden?  Where  a 
mother — save  in  one  whose  heart  is  the  tenderest?" 

Diplomatic  Straws !  Impulsively  the  wardeness 
crossed  to  Celestina;  her  blue  eyes  beamed  with  sen- 
timent and  friendliness.  "I  will  give  her  my  personal 
attention,"  she  said.  And  then  to  the  young  girl : 
"We  will  be  friends,  won't  we?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Celestina,  slowly,  after  a  moment's 


GARRET   TO   GARDEN  419 

discreet  hesitation.  She  was  glad  the  other  did  not 
kiss  her  like  Feu-de-joie. 

"I  always  like,"  said  the  wardeness,  "to  feel  my 
little  girls  are  all  my  little  friends." 

"Mademoiselle,"  exclaimed  the  bard,  "I'll— I'll  ded- 
icate my  next  volume  of  poems  to  you !" 

"Really,  Mr.  Straws !" 

"For  every  kindness  to  her,  you  shall  have  a  verse," 
he  further  declared. 

"Then  your  dedication  would  be  as  long  as 
Homer!"  she  suddenly  flashed  out,  her  arm  around 
the  child. 

Straws  looked  at  her  quickly.  It  was  too  bad  of 
him!  And  that  borrowed  Don  Juan  smile!  Noth- 
ing could  excuse  it. 

Castiglione  busied  herself  with  Celestina's  ribbons. 
"Whoever  did  tie  that  bow-knot?"  she  observed. 

"Good-by,  Celestina,"  said  Straws. 

Celestina  put  her  arms  gravely  about  his  neck  and 
he  pressed  his  lips  to  her  cheek.  Then  he  strode 
quickly  toward  the  gate.  Just  before  passing  out, 
he  looked  back.  The  wardeness  had  finished  ad- 
justing the  ribbon  and  was  contemplatively  inspecting 
it.  Celestina,  as  though  unconscious  of  the  attention, 
was  gazing  after  the  poet,  and  when  he  turned  into 
the  road,  her  glance  continued  to  rest  upon  the  gate. 


CHAPTER    IV 
"THE   BEST   OF   LIFE" 

On  a  certain  evening  about  a  month  later,  the  trop- 
ical rains  had  flooded  the  thoroughfares,  until  St. 
Charles  Street  needed  but  a  Rialto  and  a  little  imagi- 
nation to  convert  it  into  a  watery  highway  of  another 
Venice,  while  as  for  Canal  Street,  its  name  was  as 
applicable  as  though  it  were  spanned  by  a  Bridge  of 
Sighs.  In  the  narrow  streets  the  projecting  eaves 
poured  the  water  from  the  roof  to  the  sidewalks,  del- 
uging the  pedestrians.  These  minor  thoroughfares 
were  tributary  to  the  main  avenues  and  gushed  their 
rippling  currents  into  them,  as  streams  supply  a 
river,  until  the  principal  streets  flowed  swiftly  with 
the  dirty  water  that  choked  their  gutters.  The  rain 
splashed  and  spattered  on  the  sidewalks,  fairly  flood- 
ing out  the  fruit  venders  and  street  merchants  who 
withstood  the  deluge  for  a  time  and  then  were  forced 
to  vanish  with  their  portable  stores.  The  cabby, 
phlegmatic  to  wind  and  weather,  sat  on  his  box,  shed- 
ding the  moisture  from  his  oil-skin  coat  and  facing  a 
cloud  of  steam  which  presumably  concealed  a  horse. 
(420) 


"THE   BEST   OF   LIFE"  421 

The  dark  night  and  the  downpour  made  the  cafes 
look  brighter.  Umbrellas  flitted  here  and  there,  skil- 
fully piloted  beneath  swinging  signs  and  low  bal- 
conies, evading  awning  posts  and  high  hats  as  best 
they  might.  There  were  as  many  people  out  as  usual, 
but  they  were  hurrying  to  their  destinations,  even  the 
languid  Creole  beauty,  all  lace  and  alabaster,  moved 
with  the  sprightliness  of  a  maid  of  Gotham. 

Straws,  editor  and  rhymster,  was  seated  on  the 
semi-Oriental,  semi-French  gallery  of  the  little  cafe, 
called  the  Veranda,  sipping  his  absinthe,  smoking  a 
cheroot  and  watching  the  rain  drip  from  the  roof  of 
the  balcony,  spatter  on  the  iron  railing  and  form  a 
shower  bath  for  the  pedestrians  who  ventured  from 
beneath  the  protecting  shelter.  Before  him  was  paper, 
partly  covered  with  well-nigh  illegible  versification, 
and  a  bottle  of  ink,  while  a  goose-quill,  tool  of  the 
tuneful  Nine,  was  expectantly  poised  in  mid  air. 

"Confound  it!"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  can't  write 
in  the  attic  any  more,  since  Celestina  has  gone,  and 
apparently  I  can't  write  away  from  it.  Since  she 
left,  the  dishes  haven't  been  washed;  my  work  has 
run  down  at  the  heels,  and  everything  is  going  to  the 
dogs  generally.  And  now  this  last  thing  has  upset 
me  quite.  'In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,'  says  the 
sacred  Book.  But  I  must  stop  thinking,  or  I'll  never 
complete  this  poem.  Now  to  make  my  mind  a  blank ; 
a  fitting  receptacle  to  receive  inspiration!" 

The  bard's  figure  swayed  uncertainly  on  the  stool. 
In  the  lively  race  through  a  sonnet,  it  was  often,  of 


422  THE    STROLLERS 

late,  a  matter  of  doubt  with  Straws,  whether  Bacchus 
or  Calliope  would  prevail  at  the  finish,  and  to-night 
the  jocund  god  had  had  a  perceptible  start.  "Was 
ever  a  poet  so  rhyme-fuddled?"  muttered  the  impa- 
tient versifier.  "An  inebriating  trade,  this  poetiz- 
ing!"— and  he  reached  for  the  absinthe.  "If  I  am 
not  careful,  these  rhymes  will  put  me  under  the 
table!" 

"Nappy,  eh?"  said  a  voice  at  his  elbow,  as  a  drip- 
ping figure  approached,  deposited  his  hat  on  one  chair 
and  himself  in  another.  The  new-comer  had  a  long, 
Gothic  face  and  a  merry-wise  expression. 

The  left  hand  of  the  poet  waved  mechanically,  im- 
posing silence ;  the  quill  dived  suddenly  to  paper, 
trailed  twice  across  it,  and  then  was  cast  aside,  as 
Straws  looked  up. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  to  the  other's  interrogation.  "It's 
all  on  account  of  Celestina's  leaving  me.  You  ought 
to  see  my  room.  Even  a  poet's  soul  revolts  against 
it.  So  what  can  I  do,  save  make  my  home  amid 
convivial  haunts?"  The  poet  sighed.  "And  you, 
Phazma ;  how  are  you  feeling  ?" 

"Sober  as  a  judge!" 

"Then  you  shall  judge  of  this  last  couplet,"  ex- 
claimed Straws  quickly.  "It  has  cost  me  much  effort. 
The  editor  wanted  it.  It  seemed  almost  too  sad  a 
subject  for  my  halting  muse.  There  are  some  things 
which  should  be  sacred  even  from  us,  Phazma.  But 
what  is  to  be  done  when  the  editor-in-chief  com- 


"THE    BEST    OF   LIFE" 


423 


mands?  'Ours  not  to  reason  why!'  The  poem  is  a 
monody  on  the  tragedy  at  the  theater." 

"At  the  St.  Charles?"  said  Phazma,  musingly.  "As 
I  passed,  it  was  closed.  It  seemed  early  for  the  per- 
formance to  be  over.  Yet  the  theater  was  dark;  all 
the  lights  had  gone  out." 

"More  than  the  lights  went  out,"  answered  Straws, 
gravely ;  "a  life  went  out !" 

"I  don't  exactly — Oh,  you  refer  to  Miss  Carew's 
farewell  ?" 

"No ;  to  Barnes' !" 

"Barnes' !"  exclaimed  his  surprised  listener. 

"Yes ;  he  is  dead ;  gone  out  like  the  snuff  of  a  can- 
dle! Died  in  harness,  before  the  footlights!" 

"During  the  performance!"  cried  the  wondering 
Phazma.  "Why,  only  this  afternoon  I  met  him,  ap- 
parently hale  and  hearty,  and  now — you  tell  me  he 
has  paid  the  debt  of  nature?" 

"As  we  must  all  pay  it,"  returned  Straws.  "He 
acted  as  if  he  were  dazed  while  the  play  was  in 
progress  and  I  could  not  but  notice  it,  standing  in  the 
wings.  The  prompter  spoke  of  it  to  me.  'I  don't 
know  what  is  the  matter  with  Mr.  Barnes,'  he  said, 
'I  have  had  to  keep  throwing  him  his  lines.'  Even 
Miss  Carew  rallied  him  gently  between  acts  on  his 
subdued  manner. 

"  This  is  our  last  performance  together,'  he  said 
absently.  She  gave  him  a  reproachful  look  and  he 
added,  quickly:  'Do  I  appear  gloomy,  my  dear?  I 
never  felt  happier.' 


424  THE   STROLLERS 

"At  the  end  of  the  second  act  he  seemed  to  arouse 
himself,  when  she,  as  Isabella,  said :  'I'll  fit  his  mind 
to  death,  for  his  soul's  rest.'  He  gazed  at  her  long 
and  earnestly,  his  look  caressing  her  wherever  she 
moved.  Beginning  the  prison  scene  with  spirit,  he 
had  proceeded  to, 

"  'Reason  thus  with  life; 

If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 
That  none  but  fools  would  keep — ' 

When  suddenly  he  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  upon 
the  stage,  his  face  toward  the  audience.  With  a  cry 
I  shall  never  forget,  Miss  Carew  rushed  to  him  and 
took  his  head  in  her  arms,  gazing  at  him  wildly,  and 
calling  to  him  piteously.  The  curtain  went  down, 
but  nothing^  could  be  done,  and  life  quickly  ebbed. 
Once,  only,  his  lips  moved:  'Your  mother — there! — 
where  the  play  never  ends !'  and  it  was  over." 

"It  is  like  a  romance,"  said  Phazma,  finally,  at  the 
conclusion  of  this  narration. 

"Say,  rather,  reality!  The  masque  is  over!  In 
that  final  sleep  Jack  Pudding  lies  with  Roscius ;  the 
tragedian  does  not  disdain  the  mummer,  and  beauti- 
ful Columbine,  all  silver  spangles  and  lace,  is  com- 
pany for  the  clown.  'Tis  the  only  true  republic, 
Phazma;  death's  Utopia!" 

"But  to  think  he  should  have  died  with  those  words 
of  the  poet  on  his  lips  ?" 

"A  coincidence!"  answered  Straws..  "No  more  no- 
table than  the  death  of  Edmund  Kean,  who,  when  he 


"THE   BEST   OF  LIFE" 


425 


reached  the  passage  'Farewell,  Othello's  occupation's 
gone !'  fell  back  unconscious ;  or  that  of  John  Palmer, 
who,  after  reciting  There  is  another  and  a  better 
world/  passed  away  without  a  pang." 

A  silence  fell  between  the  two  poets;  around  them 
shadows  appeared  and  vanished.  Phazma  finished 
his  syrup  and  arose. 

"Don't  go,"  said  Straws.  "My  own  thoughts  are 
poor  company.  Recite  some  of  your  madrigals,  that's 
a  good  fellow!  What  a  wretched  night!  These 
rain-drops  are  like  the  pattering  feet  of  the  invisible 
host.  Some  simple  song,  Phazma!" 

"As  many  as  you  please!"  cried  his  flattered  broth- 
er-bard. "What  shall  it  be  ?" 

"One  of  your  Rhymes  for  Children.  Your  'Boy's 
Kingdom/  beginning: 

"  'When  I  was  young,  I  dreamed  of  knights 
And  dames  with  silken  trains.'" 

"Thou  shalt  have  it,  mon  ami!" 

And  Phazma  gaily  caught  up  the  refrain,  while 
Straws  beat  time  to  the  tinkling  measures. 


The  last  entry  in  the  date-book,  or  diary,  of  Barnes 
seems  curiously  significant  as  indicating  a  knowledge 
that  his  end  was  near.  For  the  first  time  in  the  vol- 
ume he  rambles  on  in  a  reminiscent  mood  about  his 
boyhood  days : 

"The  first  bit  of  good  fortune  I  ever  enjoyed  was 


426  THE    STROLLERS 

when  as  a  lad  in  sweeping  a  crossing  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Strand  I  found  a  bright,  shining  sover- 
eign. How  tightly  I  grasped  it  in  my  little  fist  that 
night  when  I  slept  in  a  doorway !  I  dared  not  trust 
it  in  my  pocket.  The  next  night  I  walked  to  the 
ticket-seller  at  Drury  Lane,  and  demanded  a  seat 
down  stairs.  'Gallery  seats  sold  around  the  corner,' 
said  this  imposing  gentleman  with  a  prodigious 
frown,  and,  abashed,  I  slunk  away.  My  dream  of 
being  near  the  grand  people  vanished  and  I  climbed 
once  more  to  my  place  directly  under  the  roof. 

"My  next  bit  of  good  fortune  happened  in  this 
wise.  Sheridan,  the  playwright-orator,  attracted  my 
attention  on  Piccadilly  one  day,  and,  for  the  delight  of 
gazing  upon  him,  I  followed.  When  he  stopped,  I 
stopped;  when  he  advanced,  I  did  likewise.  I  felt 
that  I  was  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  a  king.  Sud- 
denly he  paused,  wheeled  about  and  confronted  me, 
a  raw-boned,  ragged,  awkward  lad  of  fourteen. 
'What  one  of  my  creditors  has  set  you  following  me  ?' 
he  demanded.  'None,  sir,'  I  stammered.  'I  only 
wanted  to  look  at  the  author  of  "The  Rivals."  '  He 
appeared  much  amused  and  said:  'Egad!  So  you 
are  a  patron  of  the  drama,  my  boy?'  I  muttered 
something,  in  the  affirmative.  He  regarded  my  ap- 
pearance critically.  'I  presume  you  would  not  be 
averse  to  genteel  employment,  my  lad?'  he  asked. 
With  that  he  scribbled  a  moment  and  handed  me  a 
note  to  the  property  man  of  Drury  Lane.  My  heart 
was  too  full;  I  had  no  words  to  thank  him.  The 


"THE   BEST   OF   LIFE"  427 

tears  were  in  my  eyes,  which,  noting,  he  remarked, 
with  an  assumption  of  sternness :  'Are  you  sure,  boy, 
you  are  not  a  bailiff  in  disguise?'  At  this  I  laughed 
and  he  left  me.  The  note  procured  me  an  engage- 
ment as  errand  boy  at  the  stage-door  and  later  I 
rose  to  the  dignity  of  scene-shifter.  How  truly  typ- 
ical of  this  man's  greatness,  to  help  lift  a  homeless 
lad  out  of  the  gutters  of  London  town ! 

"But  I  am  rambling  on  as  though  writing  an  auto- 
biography, to  be  read  when  I  am  gone — " 

Here  the  entry  ceases  and  the  rest  of  the  pages  in 
the  old  date-book  are  blank. 


CHAPTER    V 
THE   LAWYER'S   TIDINGS 

The  sudden  and  tragic  death  of  Constance's  foster- 
father — which  occurred  virtually  as  narrated  by 
Straws — set  a  seal  of  profound  sadness  on  the  heart 
of  the  young  girl.  ''Good  sir,  adieu!"  she  had  said 
in  the  nunnery  scene  and  the  eternal  parting  had 
shortly  followed.  Her  affection  for  the  old  manager 
had  been  that  of  a  loving  daughter;  the  grief  she 
should  have  experienced  over  the  passing  of  the  mar- 
quis was  transferred  to  the  memory  of  one  who  had 
been  a  father  through  love's  kinship.  In  the  far- 
away past,  standing  at  the  bier  of  her  mother,  the 
manager  it  was  who  had  held  her  childish  hand,  con- 
soling her  and  sharing  her  affliction,  and,  in  those 
distant  but  unforgotten  days  of  trouble,  the  young 
girl  and  the  homeless  old  man  became  all  in  all  to  each 
other. 

Years  had  rolled  by;  the  child  that  prattled  by  his 

side  became  the  stately  girl,  but  the  hand-clasp  at  that 

grave  had  never  been  relinquished.     She  could  not 

pretend  to  mourn  the  death  of  the  marquis,  her  own 

(428) 


THE   LAWYER'S   TIDINGS      429 

father ;  had  he  not  ever  been  dead  to  her ;  as  dead  as 
the  good  wife  (or  bad  wife)  of  that  nobleman ;  as  dead 
as  Gross  George,  and  all  the  other  honored  and  dis- 
honored figures  of  that  misty  past  ?  But  Barnes'  death 
was  the  abrupt  severing  of  ties,  strengthened  by  years 
of  tender  association,  and,  when  his  last  summons 
came,  she  felt  herself  truly  alone. 

In  an  old  cemetery,  amid  the  crumbling  bricks, 
Barnes  was  buried,  his  sealed  tomb  above  ground 
bearing  in  its  inscription  the  answer  to  the  duke's 
query:  "Thy  Best  of  Life  is  Sleep."  After  the 
manager's  death  and  Constance's  retirement  from  the 
stage,  it  naturally  followed  that  the  passengers  of  the 
chariot  became  separated.  Mrs.  Adams  continued  to 
play  old  woman  parts  throughout  the  country,  re- 
maining springy  and  buoyant  to  the  last.  Susan 
transferred  herself  and  her  talents  to  another  stock 
company  performing  in  New  Orleans,  while  Kate 
procured  an  engagement  with  a  traveling  organiza- 
tion. Adonis  followed  in  her  train.  It  had  become 
like  second  nature  to  quarrel  with  Kate,  and  at  the 
mere  prospect  of  separation,  he  forthwith  was  driven 
to  ask  her  for  her  hand,  and  was  accepted — on  pro- 
bation, thus  departing  in  leading  strings.  Hawkes, 
melancholy  as  of  old,  drifted  into  a  comic  part  in  a 
"variety  show,"  acquiring  new  laurels  as  a  dry  come- 
dian of  the  old  school.  But  he  continued  to  live  alone 
in  the  world,  mournfully  sufficient  unto  himself. 

Constance  remained  in  New  Orleans.  There  the 
old  manager  had  found  his  final  resting  place  and  she 


430  THE   STROLLERS 

had  no  definite  desire  to  go  elsewhere.  Adrift  in 
the  darkness  of  the  present,  the  young  girl  was  too 
perplexed  to  plan  for  the  future.  So  she  remained 
in  the  house  Barnes  had  rented  shortly  before  his 
death.  An  elderly  gentlewoman  of  fallen  fortunes, 
to  whom  this  semi-rural  establishment  belonged,  Con- 
stance retained  as  a  companion,  passing  her  time  qui- 
etly, soberly,  almost  in  solitude.  This  mansion,  last 
remnant  of  its  owner's  earthly  estate,  was  roomy  and 
spacious,  nestling  among  the  oranges  and  inviting 
seclusion  with  its  pretentious  wall  surrounding  the 
grounds. 

The  old-fashioned  gentlewoman,  poor  and  proud, 
was  a  fitting  figure  in  that  ancient  house,  where  in  for- 
mer days  gay  parties  had  assembled.  But  now  the 
principal  callers  at  the  old  -house  were  the  little  fat 
priest,  with  a  rosy  smile,  who  looked  after  the  aged 
lady's  soul,  of  which  she  was  most  solicitous  in  these 
later  days,  and  the  Count  de  Propriac,  who  came  os- 
tensibly to  see  the  elderly  woman  and  chat  about  gene- 
alogy and  extraction,  but  was  obviously  not  unmindful 
of  the  presence  of  the  young  girl  nor  averse  to  seek- 
ing to  mitigate  her  sorrow.  Culver,  the  lawyer,  too, 
came  occasionally,  to  talk  about  her  affairs,  but  often 
her  mind  turned  impatiently  from  figures  and  markets 
to  the  subtle  rhythm  of  Shakespeare.  She  regretted 
having  left  the  stage,  feeling  the  loneliness  of  this 
simple  existence;  yet  averse  to  seeking  diversion,  and 
shunning  rather  than  inviting  society.  As  the  inert 
hours  crept  by,  she  longed  for  the  forced  wakefulness 


THE   LAWYER'S   TIDINGS      431 

and  stir  of  other  days— happy  days  of  insecurity; 
fleeting,  joyous  days,  gone  now  beyond  recall! 

But  while  she  was  striving  to  solve  these  new 
problems  of  her  life  they  were  all  being  settled  for 
her  by  Fate,  that  arrogant  meddler.  Calling  one  morn- 
ing, Culver,  nosegay  in  hand,  was  obliged  to  wait 
longer  than  usual  and  employed  the  interval  in  casu- 
ally examining  his  surroundings — and,  incidentally, 
himself.  First,  with  the  vanity  of  youngish  old  gen- 
tlemen, he  gazed  into  a  tall  mirror,  framed  in  the  fan- 
tastic style  of  the  early  Venetians ;  a  glass  which  had 
belonged  to  the  marquis  and  had  erstwhile  reflected 
the  light  beauty  of  his  noble  spouse.  Pausing  about 
as  long  as  it  would  have  taken  a  lady  to  adjust  a  curl, 
he  peeped  into  a  Dutch  cabinet  of  ebony  and  mother- 
of-pearl  and  was  studying  a  charming  creature  painted 
on  ivory,  whose  head  like  that  of  Bluebeard's  wife  was 
subsequently  separated  from  her  lovely  shoulders, 
when  a  light  footstep  behind  him  interrupted  his 
scrutiny.  Turning,  he  greeted  the  young  girl,  and, 
with  stately  gallantry,  presented  the  nosegay. 

"How  well  you  are  looking!"  he  said.  "Though 
there  might  be  a  little  more  color,  perhaps,  like  some 
of  these  flowers.  If  I  were  a  doctor,  I  should  pre- 
scribe :  Less  cloister ;  more  city !" 

She  took  the  flowers,  meeting  his  kindly  gaze  with 
a  faint  smile. 

"Most  patients  would  like  such  prescriptions,"  he 
went  on.  "I  should  soon  become  a  popular  society 
physician." 


432  THE   STROLLERS 

But  although  he  spoke  lightly,  his  manner  was 
partly  forced  and  he  regarded  her  furtively.  Their 
brief  acquaintance  had  awakened  in  him  an  interest, 
half-paternal,  half-curious.  Women  were  an  un- 
known, but  beautiful  quantity ;  from  the  vantage  point 
of  a  life  of  single  blessedness,  he  vaguely,  but  quix- 
otically placed  them  in  the  same  category  with  flow- 
ers, and  his  curiosity  was  no  harsher  than  that  of  a 
gardener  studying  some  new  variety  of  bud  or  blos- 
som. Therefore  he  hesitated  in  what  he  was  about 
to' say,  shifting  in  his  chair  uneasily  when  they  were 
seated,  but  finally  coming  to  the  point  with: 

"Have  you  read  the  account  of  the  engagement  be- 
tween the  Mexican  and  the  American  forces  at  Vera 
Cruz?" 

"No;  not  yet,"  she  admitted. 

"Nor  the  list  of — of  casualties  ?"  he  continued,  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"The  casualties !"  she  repeated.     "Why — " 

"Saint-Prosper  has  no  further  interest  in  the  mar- 
quis' sous,"  he  said  quickly. 

She  gazed  straight  before  her,  calm  and  composed. 
This  absence  of  any  exhibition  of  feeling  reassured 
the  attorney. 

"He  is — dead?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"Yes." 

"How  did  he  die?" 

"Gallantly,"  replied  the  caller,  now  convinced  she 
had  no  interest  in  the  matter,  save  that  of  a  mere 


THE   LAWYER'S   TIDINGS 


433 


acquaintance.  "His  death  is  described  in  half  a  col- 
umn. You  see  he  did  not  live  in  vain !" 

"Was  he— killed  in  battle?" 

"In  a  skirmish.  His  company  was  sent  to  break  up 
a  band  of  guerilla  rancheros  at  Antigua.  They  am- 
bushed him;  he  drove  them  out  of  the  thicket  but 
fell —  You  have  dropped  your  flowers.  Allow  met 
— at  the  head  of  his  men." 

"At  the  head  of  his  men !"     She  drew  in  her  breath. 

"There  passed  the  last  of  an  ill-fated  line,"  said  the 
lawyer,  reflectively.  "Poor  fellow!  He  started  with 
such  bright  prospects,  graduating  from  the  military 
college  with  unusual  honors.  Ambitious,  light-heart- 
ed, he  went  to  Africa  to  carve  out  a  name  in  the 
army.  But  fate  was  against  him.  The  same  ship 
that  took  him  over  carried  back,  to  the  marquis,  the 
story  of  his  brother's  disgrace — " 

"His  brother's  disgrace !"  she  exclaimed. 

Culver  nodded.  "He  sold  a  French  stronghold  in 
Africa,  Miss  Carew." 

Had  the  attorney  been  closely  observing  her  he 
would  have  noticed  the  sudden  look  of  bewilderment 
that  crossed  her  face.  She  stared  at  him  with  her 
soul  in  her  eyes. 

"Ernest  Saint-Prosper's — brother  ?" 

The  turmoil  of  her  thoughts  held  her  as  by  a  spell ; 
in  the  disruption  of  a  fixed  conclusion  her  brain  was 
filled  with  new  and  poignant  reflections.  Uncon- 
sciously she  placed  a  nervous  hand  upon  his  arm. 


434  THE    STROLLERS 

"Then  Ernest  Saint-Prosper  who  was — killed  in 
Mexico  was  not  the  traitor?" 

"Certainly  not!"  exclaimed  Culver,  quickly.  "Ow- 
ing to  the  disgrace,  I  am  sure,  more  than  to  any  other 
reason,  he  bade  farewell  to  his  country — and  now  lies 
unmourned  in  some  mountain  ravine.  It  is  true  the 
marquis  quarreled  with  him,  disliking  not  a  little  the 
young  man's  republican  ideas,  but — my  dear  young 
lady ! — you  are  ill  ?" 

"No,  no!"  she  returned,  hastily,  striving  to  main- 
tain her  self-possession.  "How — do  you  know  this?" 

"Through  the  marquis,  himself,"  he  replied,  some- 
what uneasy  beneath  her  steady  gaze.  "He  told  me 
the  story  in  order  to  protect  the  estate  from  any  pos- 
sible pretensions  on  the  part  of  the  traitor.  The  rene- 
gade was  reported  dead,  but  the  marquis,  neverthe- 
less remained  skeptical.  He  did  not  believe  in  the 
old  saw  about  the  devil  being  dead.  'Le  diable  lives 
always,'  he  said." 

The  visitor  observed  a  perceptible  change  in  the 
young  girl,  just  what  he  could  not  define,  but  to  him 
it  seemed  mostly  to  lie  in  her  eyes  where  something 
that  baffled  him  looked  out  and  met  his  glance. 

"His  brother  was  an  officer  in  the  French  army?" 
she  asked,  as  though  forcing  herself  to  speak. 

"Yes;  ten  years  older  than  Ernest  Saint-Prosper, 
he  had  already  made  a  career  for  himself.  How 
eagerly,  then,  must  the  younger  brother  have  looked 
forward  to  meeting  him ;  to  serving  with  one  who, 
in  his  young  eyes,  was  all  that  was  brave  and  noble ! 


THE   LAWYER'S    TIDINGS 


435 


What  a  bitter  awakening  from  the  dream!  It  is  not 
those  we  hate  who  can  injure  us  most — only  those  we 
love  can  stab  us  so  deeply !" 

Mechanically  she  answered  the  lawyer,  and,  when 
he  prepared  to  leave,  the  hand,  given  him  at  parting, 
was  as  cold  as  ice. 

"Remember,"  he  said,  admonishingly ;  "less  cloister, 
more  city!" 

Some  hours  later,  the  old  lady,  dressed  in  her  heavy 
silk  and  brocade  and  with  snow-white  hair  done  up  in 
imposing  fashion,  rapped  on  Constance's  door,  but 
received  no  answer.  Knocking  again,  with  like  re- 
sult, she  entered  the  room,  discovering  the  young  girl 
on  the  bed,  her  cheeks  tinted  like  the  rose,  her  eyes 
with  no  gleam  of  recognition  in  them,  and  her  lips 
moving,  uttering  snatches  of  old  plays.  Taking  her 
hand,  the  old  lady  found  it  hot  and  dry. 

"Bless  me !"  she  exclaimed.  "She  is  down  with  a 
fever."  And  at  once  prepared  a  simple  remedy  which 
soon  silenced  the  babbling  lips  in  slumber,  after  which 
she  sent  for  the  doctor. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE     COUNCIL     OF     WAR 

"Adjutant,  tell  Colonel  Saint-Prosper  I  wish  to  see 
him." 

The  adjutant  saluted  and  turned  on  his  heel,  while 
General  Scott  bent  over  the  papers  before  him,  study- 
ing a  number  of  rough  pencil  tracings.  Absorbed  in  his 
task,  the  light  of  two  candles  on  the  table  brought 
into  relief,  against  the  dark  shadows,  a  face  of  rug- 
ged character  and  marked  determination.  Save  for  a 
slight  contraction  of  the  brow,  he  gave  no  evidence 
of  the  mental  concentration  he  bestowed  upon  the 
matter  in  hand,  which  was  to  lead  to  the  culmination 
of  the  struggle  and  to  vindicate  the  wisdom  and  bold- 
ness of  his  policy. 

"You  sent  for  me,  General?" 

An  erect,  martial  figure  stood  respectfully  at  the 
entrance  of  the  tent. 

"Yes,"  said  the  General,  pushing  the  papers  from 

him.     "I  have  been  studying  your  drawings  of  the 

defensive  works  at  San  Antonio  Garita  and  find  them 

entirely    comprehensive.     A    council    of    officers    has 

(436) 


COUNCIL   OF   WAR  437 

been  called,  and  perhaps  it  will  be  as  well  for  you  to 
remain." 

"At  what  time  shall  I  be  here,  General?" 

"It  is  about  time  now,"  answered  the  commander- 
in-chief,  consulting  his  watch.  "You  have  quite  re- 
covered from  your  wounds  ?"  he  added,  kindly. 

"Yes,  thank  you,  General." 

"I  see  by  the  newspapers  you  were  reported  dead. 
If  your  friends  read  that  it  will  cause  them  needless 
anxiety.  You  had  better  see  that  the  matter  is  cor- 
rected." 

"It  is  hardly  worth  while,"  returned  the  young 
man,  slowly. 

The  commanding  general  glanced  at  him  in  some 
surprise.  "A  strange  fellow!''  he  thought.  "Has  he 
reasons  for  wishing  to  be  considered  dead?  How- 
ever, that  is  none  of  my  business.  At  any  rate,  he  is 
a  good  soldier."  And,  after  a  moment,  he  continued : 
"Cerro  Gordo  was  warm  work,  but  there  is  warmer 
yet  in  store  for  us.  Only  Providence,  not  the  Mexi- 
cans, can  stop  us.  But  here  are  the  officers,"  as 
General  Pillow,  Brevet-General  Twiggs  and  a  number 
of  other  officers  entered. 

The  commander-in-chief  proceeded  to  give  such  in- 
formation as  he  had,  touching  the  approaches  to  the 
city.  Many  of  the  officers  favored  operating  against 
San  Antonio  Garita,  others  attacking  Chapultepec. 
Saint-Prosper,  when  called  on,  stated  that  the  ground 
before  the  San  Antonio  gate  was  intersected  by  many 


438  THE    STROLLERS 

irrigating  ditches  and  that  much  of  the  approach  was 
under  water. 

"Then  you  would  prefer  storming  a  fortress  to  tak- 
ing a  ditch  ?"  said  one  of  the  generals,  satirically. 

"A  series  of  ditches,"  replied  the  other. 

"Colonel  Saint-Prosper  is  right,"  exclaimed  the  com- 
manding general.  "I  had  already  made  up  my  mind. 
Let  it  be  the  western  gate,  then." 

And  thus  was  brought  to  a  close  one  of  the  most 
memorable  councils  of  war,  for  it  determined  the  fate 
of  the  City  of  Mexico. 

Saint-Prosper  looked  older  than  when  seen  in 
New  Orleans,  as  though  he  had  endured  much  in  that 
brief  but  hard  campaign.  His  wound  had  incapaci- 
tated him  for  only  a  few  months,  and  in  spite  of  the 
climate  and  a  woful  lack  of  medical  attendance  and 
nourishing  supplies,  his  hardy  constitution  stood  him 
in  such  stead  he  was  on  his  feet  and  in  the  saddle, 
while  his  comrades  languished  and  died  in  the  fierce 
heat  of  the  temporary  hospitals.  His  fellow-officers 
knew  him  as  a  fearless  soldier,  but  a  man  reticent 
about  himself,  who  made  a  confidant  of  no  one.  Liked 
for  his  ready,  broad  military  qualities,  it  was  a  mat- 
ter of  comment,  nevertheless,  that  no  one  knew  any- 
thing about  him  except  that  he  had  served  in  the 
French  army  and  was  highly  esteemed  by  General 
Scott  as  a  daring  and  proficient  engineer. 

One  evening  shortly  before  the  skirmish  of  An- 
tigua, a  small  Mexican  town  had  been  ransacked, 
where  were  found  cattle,  bales  of  tobacco,  pulque  and 


COUNCIL   OF   WAR 


439 


wine.  At  the  rare  feast  which  followed  a  veteran 
drank  to  his  wife;  a  young  man  toasted  his  sweet- 
heart, and  a  third,  with  moist  eyes,  sang  the  praises 
of  his  mother.  In  the  heart  of  the  enemy's  land, 
amid  the  uncertainties  of  war,  remembrance  car- 
ried them  back  to  their  native  soil,  rugged  New 
England,  the  hills  of  Vermont,  the  prairies  of  Illinois, 
the  blue  grass  of  Kentucky. 

"Saint-Prosper!"  they  cried,  calling  on  him,  when 
the  festivities  were  at  their  height. 

"To  you,  gentlemen,"  he  replied,  rising,  glass  in 
hand.  "I  drink  to  your  loved  ones !" 

"To  your  own!"  cried  a  young  man,  flushed  with 
the  wine. 

Saint-Prosper  gazed  around  that  rough  company, 
brave  hearts  softened  to  tenderness,  and,  lifting  his 
canteen,  said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation: 

"To  a  princess  on  a  tattered  throne !" 

They  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Who  was  this  ad- 
venturer who  toasted  princesses?  The  Mexican  war 
had  brought  many  soldiers  of  fortune  and  titled  gen- 
tlemen from  Europe  to  the  new  world,  men  who  took 
up  the  cause  more  to  be  fighting  than  that  they  cared 
what  the  struggle  was  about.  Was  the  "tattered 
throne"  Louis  Philippe's  chair  of  state,  torn  by  the  mob 
in  the  Tuileries?  And  what  foreign  princess  was  the 
lady  of  the  throne?  But  they  took  up  the  refrain 
promptly,  good-naturedly,  and  a  chorus  rolled  out : 

"To  the  princess!" 

Little  they  knew  she  was  but  a  poor  stroller;  an 


440  THE    STROLLERS 

"impudent,  unwomanish,  graceless  monster,"  accord- 
ing to  Master  Prynne. 

After  leaving  the  commanding  general's  tent,  Saint- 
Prosper  retired  to  rest  in  that  wilderness  which  had 
once  been  a  monarch's  pleasure  grounds.  Now  over- 
head the  mighty  cypresses  whispered  their  tales  of 
ancient  glory  and  faded  renown ;  the  wind  waved  those 
trailing  beards,  hoary  with  age ;  a  gathering  of  vener- 
able giants,  murmuring  the  days  when  the  Aztec  mon- 
arch had  once  held  courtly  revels  under  the  grateful 
shadows  of  their  branches.  The  moaning  breeze 
seemed  the  wild  chant  of  the  Indian  priest  in  honor 
of  the  war-god  of  Anahuac.  It  told  of  battles  to  come 
and  conflicts  which  would  level  to  the  dust  the  de- 
scendants of  the  conquerors  of  that  ill-starred  coun- 
try. And  so  the  soldier  finally  fell  asleep,  with  that 
requiem  ringing  in  his  ears. 

When  daybreak  again  penetrated  the  mountain  re- 
cesses and  fell  upon  the  valley,  Saint-Prosper  arose 
to  shake  off  a  troubled  slumber.  An  unhealthy  mist 
hung  over  the  earth,  like  a  miasma,  and  the  officer 
shivered  as  he  walked  in  that  depressing  and  noxious 
atmosphere.  It  lay  like  a  deleterious  veil  before  the 
glades  where  myrtles  mingled  with  the  wild  times. 
It  concealed  from  view  a  cross,  said  to  have  been 
planted  by  Cortez — the  cross  he  worshiped  because 
of  its  resemblance  to  the  hilt  of  a  sword ! — and  en- 
veloped the  hoary  trees  that  were  old  when  Montezuma 
was  a  boy 'or  when  Marina  was  beloved  by  the  mighty 
free-booter. 


COUNCIL   OF   WAR  441 

The  shade  resting  on  the  valley  appeared  that  of  a 
mighty,  virulent  hand.  Out  of  the  depths  arose  a 
flock  of  dark-hued  birds,  soaring  toward  the  morbific 
fog;  not  moving  like  other  winged  creatures,  with 
harmony  of  motion,  but  rising  without  unity,  and 
filling  the  vale  with  discordant  sounds.  Nowhere 
could  these  sable  birds  have  appeared  more  unearthly 
than  in  the  "dark  valley,"  as  it  was  called  by  the 
natives,  where  the  mists  moved  capriciously,  yet  re- 
mained persistently  within  the  circumference  of  this 
natural  cauldron,  now  falling  like  a  pall  and  again 
hovering  in  mid  air.  Suddenly  the  uncanny  birds  van- 
ished among  the  trees  as  quickly  as  they  had  arisen, 
and  there  was  something  mysterious  about  their  un- 
warranted disappearance  and  the  abrupt  cessation  of 
clamorous  cries. 

While  viewing  this  somber  scene,  Saint-Prosper 
had  made  his  way  to  a  little  adobe  house  which  the 
natives  had  built  near  the  trail  that  led  through  the 
valley.  As  he  approached  this  hut  he  encountered  a 
dismal  but  loquacious  sentinel,  tramping  before  the 
partly  opened  door. 

"This  is  chilly  work,  guard?"  said  the  young  man, 
pausing. 

"Yis,  Colonel,"  replied  the  soldier,  apparently  grate- 
ful for  the  interruption ;  "it's  a  hot  foight  I  prefer  to 
this  cool  dooty." 

"Whom  are  you  guarding?"  continued  the  officer. 

"A  spy,  taken  in  the  lines  a  few  days  ago.  He's 
to  be  executed  this  morning  at  six.  But  I  don't 


442  THE    STROLLERS 

think  he  will  moind  that,  for  it's  out  of  his  head  he  is, 
with  the  malaria." 

"He  should  have  had  medical  attendance,"  observed 
the  officer,  stepping  to  the  door. 

"Faith,  they'll  cure  him  at  daybreak,"  replied  the 
guard.  "It's  a  medicine  that  niver  fails." 

Saint-Prosper  pushed  open  the  door.  The  interior 
was  so  dim  that  at  first  he  could  not  distinguish  the 
occupant,  but  when  his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the 
darkness,  he  discovered  the  figure  of  the  prisoner, 
who  was  lying  with  his  back  toward  him  on  the  ground 
of  the  little  hut  with  nothing  but  a  thin  blanket  beneath 
him.  The  only  light  revealing  the  barren  details  of 
this  Indian  residence  sifted  through  the  small  door- 
way or  peered  timorously  down  through  a  narrow 
aperture  in  the  roof  that  served  for  a  chimney.  As 
Saint-Prosper  gazed  at  the  prostrate  man,  the  latter 
moved  uneasily,  and  from  the  parched  lips  fell  a  few 
words : 

"Lock  the  doors,  Oly-koeks !  Hear  the  songsters, 
Mynheer  Ten  Breecheses!  Birds  of  prey,  you  Dutch 
varlet !  What  do  you  think  of  the  mistress  of  the 
manor?  The  serenading  anti-renters  have  come  for 
her."  Then  he  repeated  more  slowly:  "The  squaw 
Pewasch !  For  seventeen  and  one-half  ells  of  duf- 
fels !  A  rare  principality  for  the  scornful  minx ! 
Lord !  how  the  birds  sing  now  around  the  manor — 
screech  owls,  cat-birds,  bobolinks !" 

The  soldier  started  back,  vivid  memories  assailing 
his  mind.  Who  was  this  man  whose  brain,  independ- 


COUNCIL   OF   WAR  443 

ent  of  the  corporeal  shell,  played  waywardly  with 
scenes,  characters  and  events,  indissolubly  associated 
with  his  own  life? 

"Do  you  know,  Little  Thunder,  the  Lord  only  re- 
buked the  Pharisees?"  continued  the  prostrate  man. 
"Though  the  Pharisee  triumphs  after  all !  But  it  was 
the  stroller  I  wanted,  not  the  principality." 

He  stirred  quickly,  as  if  suddenly  aware  of  the 
presence  of  another  in  the  hut,  and,  turning,  lifted 
his  head  in  a  startled  manner,  surveying  the  figure 
near  the  doorway  with  conflicting  emotions  written 
on  his  pallid  countenance.  Perhaps  some  fragment 
of  a  dream  yet  lingered  in  his  brain ;  perhaps  he  was 
confused  at  the  sight  of  a  face  that  met  his  excited 
look  with  one  of  doubt  and  bewilderment,  but  only 
partial  realization  of  the  identity  of  the  intruder  came 
to  him  in  his  fevered  condition. 

Arising  deliberately,  his  body,  like  a  machine,  obey- 
ing automatically  some  unconscious  power,  he  con- 
fronted the  officer,  who  recognized  in  him,  despite  his 
thin,  worn  face  and  eyes,  unnaturally  bright,  the  once 
pretentious  land  baron,  Edward  Mauville.  Moving 
toward  the  door,  gazing  on  Saint-Prosper  as  though 
he  was  one  of  the  figures  of  a  disturbing  phantasm, 
he  reached  the  threshold,  and,  lifting  his  hand  above 
his  head,  the  prisoner  placed  it  against  one  of  the  sup- 
ports of  the  hut  and  stood  leaning  there.  From  the 
creation  of  his  mind's  eye,  as  he  doubtlessly,  half- 
conscious  of  his  weakness,  designated  the  familiar 
form,  he  glanced  at  the  sentinel  and  shook  as  though 


444  THE   STROLLERS 

abruptly  conscious  of  his  situation.  Across  the  valley 
the  soldiers  showed  signs  of  bestirring  themselves,  the 
smoke  of  many  fires  hovering  earthward  beneath  the 
mist.  Drawing  his  thin  frame  proudly  to  its  full 
height,  with  a  gesture  of  disdain  for  physical  weakness, 
and  setting  his  keen,  wild  eyes  upon  the  soldier,  Mau- 
ville  said  in  a  hollow  tone: 

"Is  that  really  you,  Mr.  Saint-Prosper?  At  first 
I  thought  you  but  a  trick  of  the  imagination.  Well, 
look  your  fill  upon  me !  You  are  my  Nemesis  come 
to  see  the  end." 

"I  am  here  by  chance,  Edward  Mauville ;  an  officer 
in  the  American  army!" 

"And  I,  a  spy  in  the  Mexican  army.  So  are  we 
authorized  foes." 

Rubbing  his  trembling  hands  together,  his  eyes 
shifted  from  the  dark  birds  to  the  mists,  then  from  the 
phantom  forests  back  to  the  hut,  finally  resting  on 
his  shabby  boots  of  yellow  leather.  The  sunlight 
penetrating  a  rift  in  the  mist  settled  upon  him  as  he 
moved  feebly  and  uncertainly  through  the  doorway 
and  seated  himself  upon  a  stool.  This  sudden  glow 
brought  into  relief  his  ragged,  unkempt  condition,  the 
sallowness  of  his  face,  and  his  wasted  form,  and  Saint- 
Prosper  could  not  but  contrast  pityingly  this  cheerless 
object,  in  the  garb  of  a  ranchero,  with  the  prepos- 
sessing, sportive  heir  who  had  driven  through  the 
Shadengo  Valley. 

Apparently  now  the  sun  was  grateful  to  his  bent, 


COUNCIL   OF   WAR  445 

stricken  figure,  and,  basking  in  it,  he  recalled  his  dis- 
tress of  the  previous  night: 

"This  is  better.  Not  long  ago  I  awoke  with  chat- 
tering teeth.  'This/  I  said,  'is  life;  a  miasma,  cold, 
discomfort.'  Yes,  yes ;  a  fever,  a  miasma,  with  phan- 
toms fighting  you — struggling  to  choke  you — but 
now" — he  paused,  and  fumbling  in  his  pocket,  drew 
out  a  cigarette  case,  which  he  opened,  but  found 
empty.  A  cigar  the  other  handed  him  he  took  me- 
chanically and  lighted  with  scrupulous  care.  Near 
at  hand  the  guard,  more  cheerful  under  the  prospect 
of  speedy  relief  from  his  duties,  could  be  heard  hum- 
ming to  himself: 

"  Oh,  Teady-foley,  you  are  my  darling, 
You  are  my  looking-glass  night  and  morning — " 

Watching  the  smoker,  Saint-Prosper  asked  himself 
how  came  Mauville  to  be  serving  against  his  own 
country,  or  why  he  should  have  enlisted  at  all,  this 
pleasure-seeking  man  of  the  world,  to  whom  the  hard- 
ships of  a  campaign  must  have  been  as  novel  as  dis- 
tasteful. 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  your  trial?"  said  the  sol- 
dier at  length. 

"Yes,"  returned  Mauville,  as  if  breaking  from  a  rev- 
erie. "I  confess  I  am  the  secret  agent  of  Santa  Anna 
and  would  have  carried  information  from  your  lines. 
I  am  here  because  there  is  more  of  the  Latin  than  the 
Anglo-Saxon  in  me.  Many  of  the  old  families"— 


446  THE    STROLLERS 

with  a  touch  of  insane  pride — "did  not  regard  the 
purchase  of  Louisiana  by  the  United  States  as  a  trans- 
action alienating  them  from  other  ties.  Fealty  is  not 
a  commercial  commodity.  But  this,"  he  added,  scorn- 
fully, "is  something  you  can  not  understand.  You 
soldiers  of  fortune  draw  your  swords  for  any  master 
who  pays  you." 

The  wind  moaned  down  the  mountain  side,  and  the 
slender  trees  swayed  and  bent ;  only  the  heavy  and 
ponderous  cactus  remained  motionless,  a  formidable 
monarch  receiving  obeisance  from  supple  courtiers. 
Like  cymbals,  the  leaves  clashed  around  this  arma- 
ment of  power  with  its  thousand  spears  out-thrust  in 
all  directions. 

The  ash  fell  from  the  cigar  as  Mauville  held  the 
weed  before  his  eyes. 

"It  is  an  hour-glass,"  he  muttered.  "When 
smoked — Oh,  for  the  power  of  Jupiter  to  order  four 
nights  in  one,  the  better  to  pursue  his  love  follies ! 
Love  follies,"  he  repeated,  and,  as  a  new  train  of 
fancy  was  awakened,  he  regarded  Saint-Prosper  ven- 
omously. 

"Do  you  know  she  is  the  daughter  of  a  marquis?'' 
said  Mauville,  suddenly. 

"Who?"  asked  the  soldier. 

"The  stroller,  of  course.  You  can  never  win  her," 
he  added,  contemptuously.  "She  knows  all  about  that 
African  affair." 

Saint-Prosper  started  violently,  but  in  a  moment 


COUNCIL   OF   WAR  447 

Mauville's  expression  changed,  and  he  appeared 
plunged  in  thought. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  her,"  he  said,  half  to  himself, 
"she  was  dressed  in  black — her  face  as  noonday — her 
hair  black  as  midnight — crowning  her  with  languor- 
ous allurement !" 

He  repeated  the  last  word  several  times  like  a  man 
in  a  dream. 

"Allurement !  allurement !"  and  again  relapsed  into 
a  silence  that  was  half-stupor. 

By  this  time  the  valley,  with  the  growing  of  the  day, 
began  to  lose  much  of  its  evil  aspect,  and  the  eye, 
tempted  through  glades  and  vistas,  lingered  upon  gor- 
geous forms  of  inflorescence.  The  land  baron  slowly 
blew  a  wreath  of  smoke  in  the  air — a  circle,  mute 
reminder  of  eternity ! — and  threw  the  end  of  the 
cigar  into  the  bushes.  Looking  long  and  earnestly 
at  the  surrounding  scene,  he  started  involuntarily. 
"The  dark  valley — whar  de  mists  am  risin' — I  see 
yo'  da,  honey — fo'ebber  and  fo'ebber — " 

As  he  surveyed  this  prospect,  with  these  words 
ringing  in  his  ears,  the  brief  silence  was  broken  by 
a  bugle  call  and  the  trampling  of  feet. 

"The  trumpet  shall  sound  and  the  dead  shall  arise," 
said  the  prisoner,  turning  and  facing  the  soldiers 
calmly.  "You  have  come  for  me?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"Yes,"  said  the  officer  in  command.  "General  Scott 
has  granted  your  request  in  view  of  certain  circum- 
stances, and  you  will  be  shot,  instead  of  hanged." 


448  THE    STROLLERS 

The  face  of  the  prisoner  lighted  wonderfully.  He 
drew  himself  erect  and  smiled  with  some  of  the  as- 
sumption of  the  old  insolence,  that  expression  Saint- 
Prosper  so  well  remembered !  His  features  took  on 
a  semblance  to  the  careless,  dashing  look  they  had 
borne  when  the  soldier  crossed  weapons  with  him  at 
the  Oaks,  and  he  neither  asked  nor  intended  to  give 
quarter. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  observed,  courteously.  "At  least, 
I  shall  die  like  a  gentleman.  I  am  ready,  sir!  Do 
not  fasten  my  hands.  A  Mauville  can  die  without 
being  tied  or  bound." 

The  officer  hesitated :     "As  to  that — "  he  began. 

"It  is  a  reasonable  request,"  said  Saint-Prosper,  in 
a  low  tone. 

Mauville  abruptly  wheeled ;  his  face,  dark  and  sin- 
ister, was  lighted  with  envenomed  malignity;  an  un- 
naturally clear  perception  replaced  the  stupor  of  his 
brain,  and,  bending  toward  Saint-Prosper,  his  eye 
rested  upon  him  with  such  rancor  and  malevolence 
the  soldier  involuntarily  drew  away.  But  one  word 
fell  from  the  land  baron's  lips,  low,  vibrating,  full  of 
inexpressible  bitterness.  "Traitor !" 

"Come,  come!"  interrupted  the  officer  in  command 
of  the  execution  party ;  "time  is  up.  As  I  was  told 
not  to  fasten  your  hands,  you  shall  have  your  wish. 
Confess  now,  that  is  accommodating?" 

"Thanks,"  returned  Mauville  carelessly,  relapsing 
into  his  old  manner.  "You  are  an  obliging  fellow! 
I  would  do  as  much  for  you." 


COUNCIL  OF  WAR  449 

"Not  much  danger  of  that,"  growled  the  other. 
"But  we'll  take  the  will  for  the  deed.  Forward, 
march !" 

After  the  reverberations,  carried  from  rock  to  rock 
with  menacing  reiteration,  had  ceased,  the  stillness 
was  absolute.  Even  the  song-bird  remained  fright- 
ened into  silence  by  those  awful  echoes.  Then  the 
sun  rested  like  a  benediction  on  the  land  and  the  white 
cross  of  Cortez  was  distinctly  outlined  against  the  blue 
sky.  But  soon  the  long  roll  of  drums  followed  this 
interval  of  quiet. 

"Fall  in !"  "Attention ;  shoulder  arms !"  And  the 
sleeping  spirit  of  the  Aztec  war-god  floated  in  the 
murmur  which,  increasing  in  volume,  arose  to  tumult- 
uous shout. 

"On  to  Chapultepec!  On  to  Chapultepec !"  came 
from  a  thousand  throats ;  arms  glistened  in  the  sun, 
bugles  sounded  resonant  in  the  air,  and  the  pattering 
noise  of  horses'  hoofs  mingled  with  the  stentorian 
voices  of  the  rough  teamsters  and  the  cracking  of  the 
whips.  Like  an  irresistible,  all-compelling  wave,  the 
troops  swept  out  of  the  valley  to  hurl  themselves 
against  castle  and  fortress  and  to  plant  their  colors  in 
the  heart  of  the  capital  city. 


CHAPTER    VII 

A   MEETING  ON  THE  MOUNT 

Clothed  at  its  base  in  a  misty  raiment  of  purple,  the 
royal  hill  lifted  above  the  valley  an  Olympian  crest 
of  porphyritic  rock  into  the  fathomless  blue.  Here 
not  Jupiter  and  his  court  looked  serenely  down  upon 
the  struggling  race,  "indifferent  from  their  awful 
height,"  but  a  dark-hued  god,  in  Aztec  vestments, 
gazed  beyond  the  meadows  to  the  floating  flower  beds, 
the  gardens  with  their  baths,  and  the  sensuous  danc- 
ing girls.  All  this,  but  a  panorama  between  naps, 
soon  faded  away ;  the  god  yawned,  drew  his 
cloak  of  humming  bird  feathers  more  closely  about 
him  and  sank  back  to  rest.  An  uproar  then  disturbed 
his  paleozoic  dreams ;  like  fluttering  spirits  of  the  gar- 
ish past,  the  butterflies  arose  in  the  forest  glades; 
and  the  voices  of  old  seemed  to  chant  the  Aztec  psalm : 
"The  horrors  of  the  tomb  are  but  the  cradle  of  the 
sun,  and  the  dark  shadows  of  death  the  brilliant  lights 
for  the  stars."  Even  so  they  had  chanted  when  the 
early  free-booters  burst  upon  the  scene  and  beheld 
the  valley  with  its  frame-work  of  mountains  and  two 
(450) 


MEETING   ON   THE   MOUNT      451 

guardian  volcanoes,  the  Gog  and  Magog  of  the  table- 
land. 

Now  again,  from  the  towering  column  of  Monte- 
zuma's  cypress,  to  the  city  marked  by  spires,  the 
thunder  rolled  and  echoed  onward  even  to  the  pine- 
clad  cliffs  and  snow-crowned  summits  of  the  rocky 
giants.  Puffs  of  smoke  dotted  the  valley  beneath 
the  mount,  and,  as  the  answering  reports  reverberated 
across  space,  nature's  mortars  in  the  inclosure  of 
mountains  sent  forth  threatening  wreaths  of  white 
in  sympathy  with  the'  eight-inch  howitzers  and  six- 
teen-pounders  turned  upon  the  crest  of  the  royal  hill. 

When  the  trees  were  yet  wet  with  their  bath  of 
dew  the  booming  of  artillery  and  the  clattering  of 
small  arms  dispelled  that  peace  which  partook  of  no 
harsher  discord  than  the  purling  of  streams  and  the 
still,  small  voices  of  the  forest.  Through  the  groves 
where  the  spirit  of  Donna  Marina — the  lost  love  of 
the  marauder — was  said  to  wander,  shrieked  the  round 
shot,  shells  and  grape.  Through  tangled  shrubberies, 
bright  with  flowers  and  colored  berries,  pierced  the 
discharge  of  canister;  the  air,  fragrant  at  the  dawn 
with  orange  blossom  and  starry  jessamine,  was 
noisome  with  suffocating,  sulphurous  fumes,  and,  be- 
neath the  fetid  shroud,  figures  in  a  fog  heedlessly 
trampled  the  lilies,  the  red  roses  and  "flowers  of  the 
heart." 

From  the  castle  on  the  summit — mortal  trespass 
upon  the  immortal  pale  of  the  gods!— the  upward 
shower  was  answered  by  an  iron  down-pour,  and  two 


452  THE    STROLLERS 

storming  parties,  with  ladders,  pick-axes  and  crows, 
advanced,  one  on  each  side  of  the  hill,  to  the  attack. 
Boom !  boom !  before  one  of  the  parties,  climbing  and 
scrambling  to  the  peak,  belched  the  iron  missives  of 
destruction  from  the  concealed  mouths  of  heavy  guns, 
followed  by  the  rattling  shower  from  small  arms. 

Surprised,  they  paused,  panting  from  the  swift 
ascent,  some  throwing  themselves  prone  upon  the 
earth,  while  the  grape  and  canister  passed  harmlessly 
over  them,  others  seeking  such  shelter  as  rocks,  trees 
and  shrubs  afforded.  Here  and  there  a  man  fell,  but 
was  not  suffered  to  lie  long  exposed  to  the  fire  of  the 
redoubt  which,  strongly  manned,  held  them  in  check 
midway  to  the  summit.  Doggedly  their  comrades 
rescued  the  wounded  and  quickly  conveyed  them  to 
the  rear. 

"They've  set  out  their  watch-dogs,"  remarked  the 
general  commanding  the  assault  on  that  side  of  the 
hill,  to  one  of  his  officers,  as  he  critically  surveyed 
the  formidable  defense  through  the  tangled  shrub- 
bery. "Here  is  a  battery  we  hadn't  reckoned  on." 

"It  was  to  be  expected,  sir,"  responded  the  officer. 
"They  were  sure  to  have  some  strong  point  we 
couldn't  locate." 

"Yes,"  grumbled  the  general ;  "in  such  a  jumble  of 
foliage  and  rocks  it  would  take  an  eagle's  eye  to  pick 
out  all  their  miserable  ambuscades." 

"I  have  no  doubt,  sir,  the  men  are  rested  now" 
ventured  the  other. 


MEETING   ON   THE   MOUNT      453 

"No  doubt  they  are,"  chuckled  the  general,  still 
studying  the  situation,  glancing  to  the  right  and  the 
left  of  the  redoubt.  "The  more  fighting  they  get  the 
more  they  want.  They  are  not  so  band-boxy  as  they 
were,  but  remind  me  of  an  old,  mongrel  dog  I  once 
owned.  He  wasn't  much  to  look  at — but  I'll  tell  you 
the  story  later."  A  sudden  quick  decision  appearing 
on  his  face.  Evidently  the  working  of  his  mind  had 
been  foreign  to  his  words. 

"Saint-Prosper,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  the  boys  on  the 
other  side  are  going  up  all  the  time?  I  promised 
our  troops  the  honor  of  pulling  down  that  flag.  I'm 
a  man  of  my  word;  go  ahead  and  take  the  batteries 
and" — stroking  his  long  gray  goatee — "beat  Pillow  to 
the,  top." 

A  word ;  a  command ;  they  rushed  forward ;  not  a 
laggard  in  the  ranks;  not  a  man  who  shirked  the 
leaden  shower;  not  one  who  failed  to  offer  his  breast 
openly  and  fearlessly  to  the  red  death  which  to  them 
might  come  when  it  would.  Unwaveringly  over 
rocks,  chasms  and  mines,  they  followed  the  tall  figure 
of  their  leader;  death  underfoot,  death  overhead! 
What  would  courage  avail  against  concealed  mines? 
Yet  like  a  pack  of  hounds  that  reck  naught  while  the 
scent  is  warm,  they  pressed  forward,  ever  forward; 
across  the  level  opening,  where  some  dropped  out  of 
the  race,  and  over  the  ramparts!  A  brief  struggle; 
confusion,  turmoil ;  something  fearful  occurring  that 
no  eye  could  see  in  its  entirety  through  the  smoke; 


454  THE    STROLLERS 

afterwards,  a  great  shout  that  announced  to  the  pal- 
ace on  the  mount  the  fate  of  the  intermediary  batter- 
ies! 

But  there  was  sharper  and  more  arduous  work  to 
come;  this,  merely  a  foretaste  of  the  last,  fierce  stand 
of  the  besieged ;  a  stand  in  which  they  knew  they  were 
fighting  for  everything,  where  defeat  meant  the  second 
conquest  of  Mexico !  From  the  batteries  the  assailants 
had  captured  to  the  foot  of  the  castle  seemed  but  a 
little  way  to  them  in  their  zeal ;  no  one  thought  of 
weariness,  or  the  toil  of  the  ascent.  But  one  deter- 
mination possessed  them — to  end  it  all  quickly;  to 
carry  everything  before  them !  Their  victory  at  the 
redoubt  gave  them  such  sudden,  wild  confidence  that 
castles  seemed  no  more  than  ant-hills — to  be  trampled 
on!  Instinctively  every  man  felt  sure  of  the  day  and 
already  experienced  the  glory  of  conquering  that  his- 
toric hill ;  that  invincible  fortress !  Over  the  great 
valley,  so  beautiful  in  its  physical  features,  so  in- 
spiring in  its  associations,  should  hang  the  stars  of 
the  North,  with  the  stars  of  heaven ! 

The  scaling  ladders  were  brought  up  and  planted 
by  the  storming  party ;  the  first  to  mount  were  hurled 
back,  killed  or  wounded,  to  the  rocks  below,  but  others 
took  their  places ;  a  lodgment  was  effected,  and,  like 
the  water  bursting  over  a  dike,  a  tide  of  besiegers 
found  ingress. 

Under  a  galling  fire,  with  shouts  that  rang  above 
the  noise  of  rifles,  they  drove  the  masses  of  the  enemy 
from  their  guns ;  all  save  one,  not  a  Mexican  from  his 


MEETING   ON    THE   MOUNT      455 

fair  skin,  who  stood  confidently  beside  his  piece,  an 
ancient  machine,  made  of  copper  and  strengthened 
by  bands  of  iron.  A  handsome  face;  dead  to  moral- 
ity, alive  to  pleasure;  the  face  of  a  man  past  thirty, 
the  expression  of  immortal  one-and-twenty !  A  fig- 
ure from  the  pages  of  Ovid,  metamorphosed  to  a  gun- 
ner of  Santa  Anna!  The  bright  radiance  from  a 
cloudless  sky,  the  smoke  having  drifted  westward 
from  the  summit,  fell  upon  him  and  his  gun. 

With  inscrutable  calmness,  one  hand  fondling  the 
breech,  he  regarded  the  fleeting  figures  and  the 
hoarse-throated  pursuers;  then,  as  if  to  time  the  op- 
portunity to  the  moment,  he  bent  over  the  gun. 

"I  wonder  if  this  first-born  can  still  bark !"  he  mut- 
tered. 

But  an  instant's  hesitation,  friend  and  foe  being 
fairly  intermingled,  was  fatal  to  his  purpose;  the 
venerable  culverin  remained  silent,  and  the  gunner 
met  hand-to-hand  a  figure  that  sprang  from  the  in- 
coming host.  Simultaneously  the  rapid  firing  of  a 
new  wave  of  besiegers  from  the  other  side  of  the  cas- 
tle threw  once  more  a  pall  of  smoke  over  the  scene, 
and,  beneath  its  mantle,  the  two  men  were  like  figures 
struggling  in  a  fog,  feeling  rather  than  seeing  each 
other's  blade,  divining  by  touch  the  cut,  pass  or  ag- 
gressive thrust. 

"Faugh!"  laughed  the  gunner.  "They'll  kill  us 
with  smoke." 

The  discharge  of  small  arms  gradually  ceased;  the 
fresh  breeze  again  cleared  the  crest  of  the  mount, 


456  THE    STROLLERS 

showing  the  white  walls  of  the  structure  which  had 
been  so  obstinately  defended;  the  valley,  where  the 
batteries  now  lay  silent,  having  spoken  their  thundering 
prologue,  and  the  alien  flag,  the  regimental  colors  of 
the  invaders,  floating  from  the  upper  walls.  Below 
on  the  road  toward  the  city,  a  band  of  white  across 
the  table  land,  successive  spots  of  smoke  momentar- 
ily appeared  and  were  succeeded,  after  a  considerable 
interval,  by  the  rub-a-dub  of  rifles.  From  the  disen- 
chanting distance  the  charge  of  a  body  of  men,  in  the 
attempt  to  dislodge  a  party  entrenched  in  a  ditch,  lost' 
the  tragic  aspect  of  warfare,  and  the  soldiers  who 
fell  seemed  no  larger  than  the  toy  figures  of  a  nur- 
sery game. 

With  the  brightening  of  the  summit  to  the  light 
of  day,  eagerly  the  two  combatants  near  the  copper 
gun  gazed  for  the  first  time  into  each  other's  eyes, 
and,  at  that  trenchant  glance,  a  tremor  crossed  the 
features  of  the  gunner,  and  his  arm,  with  its  muscles 
of  steel,  suddenly  became  inert,  powerless. 

"Mon  Dieu! — 'Tis  Ernest — little  Ernest!"  he  ex- 
claimed, wonderingly. 

For  all  that  his  opponent's  sword,  ominously  red 
from  the  fierce  first  assault  at  the  wall,  was  at  his 
breast,  he  made  no  effort  to  oppose  its  threatening 
point,  when  a  grape-shot,  swifter  than  the  blade, 
fairly  struck  the  gunner.  With  blood  streaming 
from  his  shoulder,  he  swayed  from  side  to  side,  pass- 
ing his  hand  before  his  eyes  as  one  who  questions 
oracular  evidence,  and  then  sank  to  the  earth  with 


MEETING   ON    THE   MOUNT      457 

an  arm  thrown  over  the  tube  of  copper.  Above  his 
bronzed  face  the  light  curls  waved  like  those  of  a 
Viking;  though  his  clothes  were  dyed  with  the  san- 
guinary hue  and  his  chest  rose  and  fell  with  labored 
breathing,  it  was  with  an  almost  quizzical  glance  he 
regarded  the  other  who  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

"That  was  not  so  easily  done,  Ernest,"  he  said,  not 
unkindly,  "but  surprise  broke  down  my  guard." 

"Before  God,  it  was  not  I P  cried  the  soldier,  start- 
ing from  a  trance. 

"And  if  it  were!"  With  his  free  arm  he  felt  his 
shoulder.  "I  believe  you  are  right/'  he  observed, 
coolly.  "Swords  break  no  bones." 

"I  will  get  a  surgeon,"  said  the  other,  as  he  turned. 

"What  for?  To  shake  his  head?  Get  no  one,  or 
if — for  boyish  days ! — you  want  to  serve  me,  lend  me 
your  canteen." 

Saint-Prosper  held  it  to  his  lips,  and  he  drank 
thirstily. 

"That  was  a  draught  in  an  oasis.  I  had  the  desert 
in  my  throat — the  desert,  the  wild  desert!  What  a 
place  to  meet !  But  they  caught  Abd-el-Kader,  and 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  flee!  Besides,  I  am 
a  rolling  stone." 

To  hear  him  who  had  betrayed  his  country  and 
shed  the  blood  of  his  comrades,  characterize  himself  by 
no  harsher  term  was  an  amazing  revelation  of  the 
man's  character. 

The  space  around  them  had  become  almost  desert- 
ed; here  and  there  lay  figures  on  the  ground  among 


458  THE    STROLLERS 

which  might  be  distinguished  a  sub-lieutenant  and 
other  students  of  the  military  college,  the  castle  hav- 
ing been  both  academy  and  garrison.  Their  tuition 
barely  over,  so  early  had  they  given  up  their  lives 
beneath  the  classic  walls  of  their  alma  mater!  The 
exhilarating  cheering  and  shouting  had  subsided;  the 
sad  after-flavor  succeeded  the  lust  of  conquest. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  gunner,  though  the  words 
came  with  an  effort.  "First,  it  was  the  desert.  What 
a  place  to  roll  and  rove!  I  couldn't  help  it  for  the 
life  of  me!  When  I  was  a  boy  I  ran  away  from 
school ;  a  lad,  I  ran  away  from  college !  If  I  had  been 
a  sailor  I  would  have  deserted  the  ship.  After  they 
captured  the  prophet,  I  deserted  the  desert.  So,  hey 
for  Mexico,  a  hilly  place  for  a  rolling  stone !" 

He  gasped,  held  his  hand  to  his  shoulder  and 
brought  it  away  covered  with  red.  But  that  Saint- 
Prosper  knelt  swiftly,  sustaining  and  supporting  him, 
he  would  have  slid  to  the  ground.  He  smiled — 
sweetly  enough — on  the  stern  soldier  and  placed  his 
moist  and  stained  hand  caressingly  on  that  of  his 
companion.  Seeing  them  thus,  it  was  not  difficult  to 
trace  a  family  likeness — a  similarity  in  their  very 
dissimilarity.  The  older  was  younger;  the  younger, 
older.  The  gunner's  hair  was  light,  his  face  wild  as 
a  gerfalcon  beneath ;  the  other's  dark,  with  a  counte- 
nance, habitually  repressed,  but  now,  at  the  touch  of 
that  dishonored  hand,  grown  cold  and  harsh ;  yet  de- 
spite the  total  difference  of  expression,  the  hereditary 
resemblance  could  not  be  stamped  out.  Even  the 


MEETING   ON   THE    MOUNT      459 

smile  of  the  wounded  man  was  singularly  like  that  of 
his  brother— a  rare  transformation  that  seldom  failed 
to  charm. 

"That's  my  story,"  he  said,  smiling  now,  as  though 
all  the  problems  of  life  and  death  could  be  thus  dis- 
missed. "As  the  prophet  said:  'I  have  urged  my 
camel  through  every  desert!'  You  see  I  know  my 
Koran  well.  But  how  came  you  here,  Ernest?  I 
thought  you  were  in  Africa,  colonizing — us!" 

"It  was  impossible  to  stay  there  long,"  replied 
Saint-Prosper,  slowly. 

"There's  that  cloud  of  smoke  again,"  muttered  the 
wounded  man,  apparently  oblivious  to  the  other's  re- 
sponse. As  he  spoke  he  withdrew  his  hand  from  that 
of  his  brother.  At  that  moment  the  tropic  sun  was 
bathing  him  in  its  light  and  the  white  walls  shone 
with  luster.  "No;  it's  like  the  desert;  the  dark  hour 
before  the  sand-storm."  Upon  his  brow  the  perspi- 
ration gathered,  but  his  lip  curled  half-scorn  fully, 
half-defiantly.  "Turn  me  toward  the  valley,  Ernest. 
There's  more  space ;  more  light !" 

The  soldier,  an  automaton  in  passive  compliance, 
placed  him  where  he  commanded  the  outlook  city- 
ward ;  the  open  plain,  protected  by  the  breast- works 
of  mountains ;  the  distant  spires  trembling  on  the 
horizon;  the  lakes  which  once  marked  the  Western 
Venice,  a  city  of  perfume  and  song.  Striking  a  body 
of  water,  the  sun  converted  it  into  a  glowing  shield, 
a  silver  escutcheon  of  the  land  of  silver,  and,  in  con- 
trast with  this  polished  splendor,  the  shadows,  trail- 


460  THE    STROLLERS 

ing  on  the  far-away  mountains,  were  soft,  deep  and 
velvety.  But  the  freedom  of  the  outlook  afforded  the 
wounded  man  little  comfort. 

"The  storm !"  he  said. 

A  change  passed  over  his  face,  as  of  a  shadow 
drawn  before  it.  He  groped  helplessly  with  his  hand. 
"Feel  in  my  burnoose,  Ernest.  A  bag — around  my 
neck — open  it!" 

Saint-Prosper  thrust  his  hand  within  the  coat,  shud- 
dering at  the  contact  with  the  ebbing  life's  blood,  and 
drew  forth  a  leather  bag  which  he  placed  in  the 
other's  trembling  fingers.  With  an  effort,  breathing 
laboriously,  and  staring  hard,  as  though  striving  to 
penetrate  a  gathering  film,  the  wounded  man  finally 
managed  to  display  the  contents  of  the  bag,  emptying 
them  in  his  palm,  where  they  glinted  and  gleamed  in 
the  sun's  rays.  Sapphires,  of  delicate  blue ;  emeralds 
with  vitreous  luster;  opals  of  brilliant  iridescence — 
but,  above  all,  a  ruby  of  perfect  color  and  extraordi- 
nary size,  cut  en  cabachon,  and  exhibiting  a  marvelous 
star  of  many  rays ;  the  ruby  of  Abd-el-Kader ! 

With  a  venal  expression  of  delight,  the  gunner  re- 
garded the  contents  of  the  bag,  feeling  the  gems  one 
by  one.  "The  rarest  stone — from  the  Sagyin  hills, 
Ernest !"  he  whispered,  as  his  trembling  fingers  played 
with  the  ruby. 

But  even  as  he  fondled  it,  a  great  pain  crossed  his 
breast;  he  gripped  his  shoulder  tight  with  his  free 
hand,  clutching  the  precious  stones  hard  in  his 
clenched  fist.  Thus  he  remained,  how  long  the  other 


MEETING   ON   THE   MOUNT      461 

never  knew,  panting,  growing  paler,  as  the  veins  that 
carried  life  to  his  heart  were  being  slowly  emptied. 
^  His  head  dropped.  "How  dark!"  he  murmured. 
"Like  a  m'chachd  where  the  hashish-smokers  dream !" 

The  younger  brother  thought  his  energy  was  spent 
when  he  looked  up  sharply. 

"The  lamp's  out,  you  Devil  Jew!"  he  cried.  "The 
pipe,  too — spawn  of  hell !" 

And  he  dropped  back  like  stone,  the  gems  falling 
from  his  hand,  which  twitched  spasmodically  on  the 
ground  and  then  was  still.  Saint-Prosper  bent  over 
him,  but  the  heart,  famished  for  nourishment,  had 
ceased  to  beat;  the  restless,  wayward  soul  had  fled 
from  its  tabernacle  of  dust.  Save  for  the  stain  on 
his  breast  and  the  fixedness  of  his  eyes,  he  might  have 
been  sleeping. 

Mechanically  the  soldier  gathered  the  sapphires, 
emeralds  and  other  gems — flashing  testimony  of  that 
thankless  past — and,  leaning  against  the  wall,  gazed 
afar  to  the  snow-capped  volcanoes.  Even  as  he 
looked,  the  vapors  arose  from  the  solfataras  of  the 
"smoking  mountain"  and  a  vast  shower  of  cinders 
and  stones  was  thrown  into  the  air.  Unnoticed 
passed  the  eruption  before  the  gaze  of  Saint-Prosper, 
whose  mind  in  a  torpor  swept  dully  back  to  youth's 
roseate  season,  recalling  the  homage  of  the  younger 
for  the  elder  brother,  a  worship  as  natural  as  pagan 
adoration  of  the  sun.  From  the  sanguine  fore-time 
to  the  dead  present  lay  a  bridge  of  darkness.  With 
honor  within  grasp,  deliberately  he  had  sought  dis- 


462  THE   STROLLERS 

honor,  little  recking  of  shame  and  murder,  and  child- 
ishly husbanding-  green,  red  and  blue  pebbles ! 

Weighing  the  stones  in  his  hand  now,  Ernest 
Saint-Prosper  looked  .at  them  long  and  bitterly.  For 
these  the  honor  and  pride  of  an  old  family  had  been 
sold.  For  these  he  himself  had  endured  the  reflected 
disgrace';  isolation  from  comradeship ;  distrust  which 
had  blighted  his  military  career  at  the  outset.  How 
different  had  been  the  reality  from  his  expectations; 
the  buoyant  hopes  of  youth;  the  fond  anticipation  of 
glory,  succeeded  by  stigma  and  stain !  And,  as  the 
miserable,  perplexing  panorama  of  these  later  years 
pictured  itself  in  his  brain  he  threw,  with  a  sudden 
gesture,  the  gems  far  from  him,  over  the  wall,  out 
toward  the  valley ! 

Like  dancing  beams  of  color,  they  flashed  a  moment 
in  mid  air ;  then  mingled  their  hues  with  the  rain- 
bow tints  of  a  falling  -  stream.  Lost  to  sight,  they 
sank  in  the  crystal  waters  which  leaped  with  a  caress- 
ing murmur  toward  the  table-land ;  only  the  tiny  spec- 
trum, vivid  reminder  of  their  color,  still  waved  and 
wavered  from  rock  to  rock  above  a  pellucid  pool. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Colonel,"  said  a  voice  at  his 
elbow,  breaking  in  upon  his  reflections;  "are  you 
wounded  ?" 

With  drawn  features,  the  officer  turned. 

"No;  I  am  not  wounded." 

"The  general  directs  you  to  take  this  message  to 
the  commanding  general,"  continued  the  little  aide. 
"I  believe  I  may  congratulate  you,  sir,  for  you  will 


MEETING   ON   THE   MOUNT      463 

have  the  honor  of  bearing  the  news  of  the  victory." 
He  handed  Saint-Prosper  a  sealed  message.  "It's 
been  a  glorious  day,  sir,  but" — gazing  carelessly 
around  him — "has  cost  many  a  brave  life!" 

"Yes,  many  a  life !"  answered  the  other,  placing  the 
message  in  his  breast  and  steadfastly  regarding  for 
the  last  time  the  figure  beneath  the  gun. 

"We  ought  to  be  in  the  City  of  Mexico  in  a  day  or 
two,  sir,"  resumed  the  aide.  "Won't  it  be  jolly 
though,  after  forced  marches  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing !  Fandangos ;  tambourines ;  cymbals !  And 
the  pulque!  What  creatures  of  the  moment  we  are, 
sir !"  he  added,  with  sudden  thoughtfulness.  "  Twill 
be,  after  all,  like  dancing  over  the  graves  of  our  dear 
comrades !" 


CHAPTER    VIII 

A    FAIR    PENITENT 

The  reception  to  General  Zachary  Taylor,  on  his  re- 
turn from  Mexico,  and  the  inauguration  of  the  carni- 
val combined  to  the  observance  of  a  dual  festival  day 
in  the  Crescent  City.  Up  the  river,  past  the  rice 
fields,  disturbing  the  ducks  and  pelicans,  ploughed 
the  noisy  craft  bearing  "Old  Rough  and  Ready"  to 
the  open  port  of  the  merry-making  town.  When  near 
the  barracks,  the  welcoming  cannon  boomed,  and  the 
affrighted  darkies  on  the  remote  plantations  shook 
with  dire  forebodings  of  a  Mexican  invasion. 

The  boat  rounded  at  the  Place  d'Armes,  where, 
beneath  a  triumphal  arch,  General  Taylor  received 
the  crown  and  chaplet  of  the  people — popular  ap- 
plause— and  a  salvo  of  eloquence  from  the  mayor. 
With  flying  colors  and  flourish  of  trumpets,  a  pro- 
cession of  civic  and  military  bodies  was  then  formed, 
the  parade  finally  halting  at  the  St.  Charles,  where 
the  fatted  calf  had  been  killed  and  the  succulent  ox 
roasted.  Sounding  a  retreat,  the  veteran  com- 
(464) 


A   FAIR   PENITENT  465 

mander  fell  back  upon  a  private  parlor  to  recuperate 
his  forces  in  anticipation  of  the  forthcoming-  banquet. 

From  this  stronghold,  where,  however,  not  all  of 
the  enemy — his  friends — could  be  excluded,  there  es- 
caped an  officer,  with:  "I'll  look  around  town  a  lit- 
tle, General." 

"Look  around!"  said  the  commander  at  the  door. 
"I  should  think  we  had  looked  around!  Well,  don't 
fall  foul  of  too  many  juleps." 

With  a  laughing  response,  the  young  man  pushed 
his  way  through  the  jostling  crowd  near  the  door, 
traversed  the  animated  corridor,  and  soon  found  him- 
self out  on  the  busy  street.  Amid  the  variegated 
colors  and  motley  throng,  he  walked,  not,  however, 
in  King  Carnival's  gay  domains,  but  in  a  city  of  rec- 
ollections. The  tavern  he  had  just  left  was  associa- 
ted with  an  unforgotten  presence ;  the  stores,  the  win- 
dows, the  thoroughfares  themselves  were  fraught 
with  retrospective  suggestion  of  the  strollers. 

Even  now — and  he  came  to  an  abrupt  standstill — 
he  was  staring  at  the  bill-board  of  the  theater  where 
she  had  played,  the  familiar  entrance  bedecked  with 
bunting  and  festival  inscriptions.  Before  its  classic 
portals  appeared  the  black-letter  announcement  of  an 
act  by  "Impecunious  Jordan,  Ethiopian  artist,  fol- 
lowed by  a  Tableau  of  General  Scott's  Capture  of  the 
City  of  Mexico."  Mechanically  he  stepped  within 
and  approached  the  box  office.  From  the  little  cup- 
board, a  strange  face  looked  forth;  even  the  ticket 
vender  of  old  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  irony  of 


466  THE    STROLLERS 

fate,  and,  instead  of  the  well-remembered  blond 
mustache  of  the  erstwhile  seller  of  seats,  a  dark- 
bearded  man,  with  sallow  complexion,  inquired : 

"How  many  ?" 

"One,"  said  Saint-Prosper,  depositing  a  Mexican 
piece  on  the  counter  before  the  cubby-hole. 

"We've  taken  in  plenty  of  this  kind  of  money  to- 
day," remarked  the  man,  holding  up  the  coin.  "I 
reckon  you  come  to  town  with  old  Zach  ?" 

"Yes."  The  soldier  was  about  to  turn  away,  when 
he  changed  his  mind  and  observed :  "You  used  to 
give  legitimate  drama  here." 

"That  was  some  time  ago,"  said  the  man  in  the  box, 
reflectively.  "The  soldiers  like  vaudeville.  Ever  hear 
Impecunious  Jordan?" 

"I  never  did." 

"Then  you've  got  a  treat,"  continued  the  vender. 
"He's  the  best  in  his  line.  Hope  you'll  enjoy  it,  sir," 
he  concluded,  with  the  courtesy  displayed  toward  one 
and  all  of  "Old  Rough  and  Ready's"  men  that  day. 
"It's  the  best  seat  left  in  the  house.  You  come  a  little 
late,  you  know."  And  as  the  other  moved  away: 

"How  different  they  look  before  and  after!  They 
went  to  Mexico  fresh  as  daisies,  and  come  back — 
those  that  do — dead  beat,  done  up !" 

Passing  through  the  door,  Saint-Prosper  was  ush- 
ered to  his  seat  in  a  renovated  auditorium;  new  cur- 
tain, re-decorated  stalls,  mirrors  and  gilt  in  profusion ; 
the  old  restfulness  gone,  replaced  by  glitter  and  show. 
Amid  changed  conditions,  the  derangement  of  fixed 


A   FAIR   PENITENT  467 

external  form  and  outline,  the  sight  of  a  broad  face 
in  the  orchestra  and  the  aspect  of  a  colossal  form 
riveted  his  attention.  This  person  was  neither  stouter 
nor  thinner  than  before;  he  perspired  neither  more 
nor  less ;  he  was  neither  older  nor  younger — seem- 
ingly ;  he  played  on  his  instrument  neither  better  nor 
worse.  Youth  might  fade,  honors  take  wing,  the 
face  of  nature  change,  but  Hans,  Gargantuan  Hans, 
appeared  but  a  figure  in  an  eternal  present!  Gazing 
at  that  substantial  landmark,  the  soldier  was  carried 
back  in  thought  over  the  long  period  of  separation 
to  a  forest  idyl ;  a  face  in  the  firelight ;  the  song  of 
the  katydid ;  the  drumming  of  the  woodpecker. 
Dreams ;  vain  dreams !  They  had  assailed  him  be- 
fore, but  seldom  so  sharply  as  now  in  a  place  conse- 
crated to  the  past. 

"  Look  out  for  the  dandies, 

Girls,  beware  ; 
Look  out  for  their  blandishments, 

Dears,  take  care! 

For  they're  always  ready — remember  this!— 
To  pilfer  from  maids  an  unwilling  kiss. 

Oh,  me!  Oh,  my!  There!  There!  "     (Imaginary  slaps.) 

sang  and  gesticulated  a  lady  in  abbreviated  skirts 
and  low-cut  dress,  winking  and  blinking  in  ironical 
shyness,  and  concluding  with  a  flaunting  of  her 
gown,  a  toe  pointed  ceilingward,  and  a  lively  "break- 
down." Then  she  vanished  with  a  hop,  skip  and  a 
bow,  reappeared  with  a  ravishing  smile  and  threw  a 
generous  assortment  of  kisses  among  the  audience, 


468  THE    STROLLERS 

and  disappeared  with  another  hop,  skip  and  a  bow, 
as  Impecunious  Jordan  burst  upon  the  spectators  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  stage. 

Even  the  sight  of  Hans,  a  finger-post  pointing  to 
ways  long  since  traversed,  could  not  reconcile  the 
soldier  to  his  surroundings;  the  humor  of  the  burnt- 
cork  artist  seemed  inappropriate  to  the  place ;  his  gro- 
tesque dancing  inadmissible  in  that  atmosphere  once 
consecrated  to  the  comedy  of  manners  and  the  stately 
march  of  the  classic  drama.  Where  Hamlet  had  mor- 
alized, a  loutish  clown  now  beguiled  the  time  with 
some  torn-foolery,  his  wit  so  broad,  his  quips  were 
cannon-balls,  and  his  audience,  for  the  most  part  sol- 
diers from  Mexico,  open-mouthed  swallowed  the  en- 
tire bombardment.  But  Saint-Prosper,  finding  the 
performance  dull,  finally  rose  and  went  out,  not  wait- 
ing for  the  thrilling  Tableaux  of  the  Entrance  into  the 
City  of  Mexico  of  a  hundred  American  troops  (im- 
personated by  young  ladies  in  tropical  attire)  and  the 
submission  of  Santa  Anna's  forces  (more  young  la- 
dies) by  sinking  gracefully  to  their  bended  knees. 

Fun  and  frolic  were  now  in  full  swing  on  the  thor- 
oughfares ;  Democritus,  the  rollicker,  had  com- 
manded his  subjects  to  drive  dull  care  away  and  they 
obeyed  the  jovial  lord  of  laughter.  Animal  spirits 
ran  high ;  mischief  beguiled  the  time ;  mummery 
romped  and  rioted.  Marshaled  by  disorder,  armed 
with  drollery  and  divers-hued  banners,  they  marched 
to  the  Castle  of  Chaos,  where  the  wise 'are  fools,  the 
old  are  young  and  topsy-turvy  is  the  order  of  the  day. 


A    FAIR    PENITENT  469 

As  Saint-Prosper  stood  watching  the  versicolored 
concourse  swarm  by,  a  sudden  rush  of  bystanders  to 
view  Faith  on  a  golden  pedestal,  looking  more  like 
Coquetry,  propelled  a  dainty  figure  against  the  sol- 
dier. Involuntarily  he  put  out  his  arm  which 
girded  a  slender  waist ;  Faith  drove  simpering  by ;  the 
crowd  melted  like  a  receding  wave,  and  the  lady  ex- 
tricated herself,  breathless  as  one  of  the  maids  in 
Lorenzo  de  Medici's  Songs  of  the  Carnival. 

"How  awkward!"  she  murmured.     "How — " 

The  sentence  remained  unfinished  and  an  exclama- 
tion, "Mr.  Saint-Prosper!"  punctuated  a  gleam  of 
recognition. 

"Miss  Duran !"  he  exclaimed,  equally  surprised,  for 
he  had  thought  the  strollers  scattered  to  the  four 
winds. 

"Mrs.  Service,  if  you  please!"  Demurely;  at  the 
same  time  extending  her  hand  with  a  faint  flush. 
"Yes;  I  am  really  and  truly  married!  But  it  is  so 
long  since  we  met,  I  believe  I— literally  flew  to  your 
arms !" 

"That  was  before  you  recognized  me,"  he  returned, 

in  the  same  tone. 

Susan  laughed.  "But  how  do  you  happen  to  be 
here?  I  thought  you  were  dead.  No ;  only  wounded ? 
How  fortunate!  Of  course  you  came  with  the  oth- 
ers. I  should  hardly  know  you.  I  declare  you're  as 
thin  as  a  lath  and  gaunt  as  a  ghost.  You  look  older, 
too.  Remorse,  I  suppose,  for  killing  so  many  poor 
Mexicans !" 


470  THE    STROLLERS 

"And  you" — surveying  her  face,  which  had  the 
freshness  of  morn — "look  younger !" 

"Of  course!"  Adjusting  some  fancied  disorder  of 
hair  or  bonnet.  "Marriage  is  a  fountain  of  youth 
for" — with  a  sigh — "old  maids.  Susan  Duran,  spins- 
ter! Horrible!  Do  you  blame  me?" 

"For  getting  married?  Not  at  all.  Who  is  the 
fortunate  man  ?"  asked  Saint-Prosper. 

"A  minister;  an  orthodox  minister;  a  most  ortho- 
dox minister!" 

"No?"  His  countenance  expressed  his  sense  of 
the  incongruity  of  the  union.  Susan  one  of  the  elect ; 
the  meek  and  lowly  yokemate  of —  "How  did  it  hap- 
pen ?"  he  said. 

"In  a  perverse  moment,  I — went  to  church,"  an- 
swered Susan.  "There,  I  met  him — I  mean,  I  saw 
him — no,  I  mean,  I  heard  him!  It  was  enough.  All 
the  women  were  in  love  with  him.  How  could  I 
help  it?" 

"He  must  have  been  very  persuasive." 

"Persuasive !  He  scolded  us  every  minute.  Dress 
and  the  devil!  I" — casting  down  her.  eyes — "inter- 
ested him  from  the  first.  He — he  married  me  to  re- 
form me." 

"Ah,"  commented  the  soldier,  gazing  doubtfully 
upon  Susan's  smart  gown,  which,  with  elaborate  art, 
followed  the  contours  of  her  figure. 

"But,  of  course,  one  must  keep  up  appearances, 
you  know,"  she  continued.  "What's  the  use  of  be- 
ing a  minister's  wife  if  you  aren't  popular  with  the 


A   FAIR    PENITENT  471 

congregation?  At  least,"  she  added,  "with  part  of 
them !"  And  Susan  tapped  the  pavement  with  a  well- 
shod  boot  and  showed  her  white  teeth.  "If  you 
weren't  popular,  you  couldn't  fill  the  seats — I  mean 
pews,"  she  added,  evasively.  "But  you  must  come 
and  see  me — us,  I  should  say." 

"Unfortunately,  I  am  leaving  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow !"  repeated  Susan,  reflectively.  The 
pupils  of  her  eyes  contracted,  something  they  did 
whenever  she  was  thinking  deeply,  and  her  gaze 
passed  quickly  over  his  face,  striving  to  read  his 
impassive  features.  "So  soon?  When  the  carnival 
is  on !  That  is  too  bad,  to  stay  only  one  day,  and  not 
call  on  any  of  your  old  friends!  Constance,  I  am 
sure,  would  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

Many  women  would  have  looked  away  under  the 
circumstances,  but  Susan's  eyes  were  innocently  fixed 
upon  his.  Half  the  pleasure  of  the  assurance  was  in 
the  accompanying  glance  and  the  friendly  smile  that 
went  with  it. 

But  a  quiet  question,  "Miss  Carew  is  living  here?" 
was  all  the  satisfaction  she  received. 

"Yes.  Have  you  not  heard?  She  has  a  lovely 
home  and  an  embarrassment  of  riches.  Sweet  em- 
barrassment! Health  and  wealth!  What  more  could 
one  ask?  Although  I  forgot,  she  was  taken  ill 
shortly  after  you  left." 

"Ill,"  he  said,  starting. 

"Quite!  But  soon  recovered!"  And  Susan 
launched  into  a  narration  of  the  events  that  had  taken 


472  THE    STROLLERS 

place  while  he  was  in  Mexico,  to  which  he  listened 
with  the  composure  of  a  man  who,  having  had  his 
share  of  the  vagaries  of  fate,  is  not  to  be  taken  aback 
by  new  surprises,  however  singular  or  tragic.  Su- 
san expected  an  expression  of  regret — by  look  or 
word — over  the  loss  of  the  marquis'  fortune,  but 
either  he  simulated  indifference  or  passed  the  matter 
by  with  philosophical  fortitude. 

"Poor  Barnes !"  was  his  sole  comment. 

"Yes;  it  was  very  lonely  for  Constance  at  first," 
rattled  on  Susan.  "But  I  fancy  she  will  find  a  wo- 
man's solace  for  that  ailment,"  she  added  meaningly. 

"Marriage?"  he  asked  soberly. 

"Well,  the  engagement  is  not  yet  announced,"  said 
Susan,  hesitatingly.  "But  you  know  how  things  get 
around  ?  And  the  count  has  been  so  attentive !  You 
remember  him  surely — the  Count  de  Propriac?  But 
I  must  be  off.  I  have  an-  appointment  with  my  hus- 
band and  am  already  half  an  hour  late." 

"Don't  let  me  detain  you  longer,  then,  I  beg." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind.  He's  so  delightfully  jealous 
when  I  fail  to  appear  on  the  stroke  of  the  clock !  Al- 
ways imagines  I  am  in  some  misch — but  I  mustn't 
tell  tales  out  of  school !  So  glad  to  have  met  you ! 
Come  and  see  me — do!" 

And  Susan  with  friendly  hand-clasp  and  lingering 
look,  tore  herself  away,  the  carnival  lightness  in  her 
feet  and  the  carnival  laughter  in  her  eyes. 

"He  is  in  love  with  her  still,"  she  thought,  "or  he 
wouldn't  have  acted  so  indifferent!"  Her  mind  re- 


A   FAIR   PENITENT 


473 


verted  to  a  cold  little  message  she  had  received  from 
Constance.  "And  to  think  he  was  innocent  after  all !" 
she  continued,  mentally  reviewing  the  contents  of  the 
letter  in  which  Constance  had  related  the  conversa- 
tion with  the  lawyer.  "I  don't  believe  he'll  call  on 
her  now,  though,  after—  Well,  why  shouldn't  I 
have  told  him  what  every  one  is  talking  about  ?  Wh5 
not,  indeed?" 

A  toss  of  the  head  dismissed  the  matter  and  any 
doubts  pertaining  thereto,  while  her  thoughts  flew 
from  past  to  present,  as  a  fortress  on  a  car,  its  occu- 
pants armed  with  pellets  of  festival  conflict,  drove  by 
amid  peals  of  laughter.  Absorbed  in  this  scene  of 
merriment,  Susan  forgot  her  haste,  and  kept  her  apos- 
tolic half  waiting  at  the  rendezvous  with  the  patience 
of  a  Jacob  tarrying  for  a  Rachel.  But  when  she  did 
finally  appear,  with  hat  not  perfectly  poised,  her  hair 
in  a  pretty  disarray,  she  looked  so  waywardly  charm- 
ing, he  forgave  her  on  the  spot,  and  the  lamb  led  the 
stern  shepherd  with  a  crook  from  Eve's  apple  tree. 

"As  thin  as  a  lath  and  gaunt  as  a  ghost !"  repeated 
Saint-Prosper,  as  the  fair  penitent  vanished  in  a  whirl 
of  gaiety.  "Susan  always  was  frank." 

Smiling  somewhat  bitterly,  he  paused  long  enough 
to  light  a  cigar,  but  it  went  out  in  his  fingers  as  he 
strolled  mechanically  toward  the  wharves,  through  the 
gardens  of  a  familiar  square,  where  the  wheezing  of 
the  distant  steamers  and  the  echoes  of  the  cathedral 
clock  marked  the  hours  of  pleasure  or  pain  to-day 
as  it  had  tolled  them  off  yesterday.  Beyond  the  pale 


474  THE   STROLLERS 

of  the  orange  trees  with  their  golden  wealth',  the 
drays  were  rumbling  in  the  streets  and  there  were 
the  same  signs  of  busy  traffic — for  the  carnival  had 
not  yet  become  a  legal  holiday — that  he  had  observed 
when  the  strollers  had  reached  the  city  and  made 
their  way  to  the  St.  Charles.  He  saw  her  anew,  pale 
and  thoughtful,  leaning  on  the  rail  of  the  steamer 
looking  toward  the  city,  where  events,  undreamed  of, 
were  to  follow  thick  and  fast.  He  saw  her,  a  slender 
figure,  earnest,  self-possessed,  enter  the  city  gates,  un- 
heralded, unknown.  He  saw  her  as  he  had  known 
her  in  the  wilderness — not  as  fancy  might  now  de- 
pict her,  the  daughter  of  a  marquis — a  strolling 
player,  and  as  such  he  loved  best  to  think  of  her. 

Arising  out  of  his  physical  weakness  and  the  period 
of  inaction  following  the  treaty  of  peace,  he  experi- 
enced a  sudden  homesickness  for  his  native  land ;  a 
desire  to  re-visit  familiar  scenes,  to  breathe  the  sweet 
air  of  the  country,  where  his  boyhood  had  been  passed, 
to  listen  to  the  thunder  of  the  boulevards,  to  watch 
the  endless,  sad-joyful  processions. 

Not  far  distant  from  the  blossoming,  redolent 
square  was  the  office  of  the  Trans-Atlantic  Steam- 
ship Company,  where  a  clerk,  with  a  spray  of  jessa- 
mine in  his  coat,  bent  cordially  toward  Saint-Prosper 
as  the  latter  entered,  and,  approaching  the  desk,  in- 
quired : 

"The  Dauphin  is  advertised  to  sail  to-morrow  for 
France  ?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  at  twelve  o'clock  noon." 


A   FAIR   PENITENT  475 

"Book  me  for  a  berth.  Ernest  Saint-Prosper,"  he 
added,  in  answer  to  the  other's  questioning  look. 

"Very  good,  sir.  Would  you  like  some  labels  for 
your  baggage?  Where  shall  we  send  for  it?  The 
St.  Charles?  Very  well,  sir.  Are  you  going  to  the 
tableaux  to-night?''  he  continued,  with  hospitable  in- 
terest in  one  whom  he  rightly  conceived  a  stranger 
in  the  city.  "They  say  it  will  be  the  fashionable 
event.  Good-day."  As  the  prospective  passenger 
paid  for  and  received  his  ticket.  "A  pleasant  voyage ! 
The  Dauphin  is  a  new  ship  and  should  cross  in  three 
weeks — barring  bad  weather!  Don't  forget  the  tab- 
leaux. Everybody  will  be  there." 

The  soldier  did  not  reply;  his  heart  had  given  a 
sudden  throb  at  the  clerk's  last  words.  Automatic- 
ally he  placed  his  ticket  in  his  pocket,  and  randomly 
answered  the  employee's  further  inquiries  for  instruc- 
tions. He  was  not  thinking  of  the  Dauphin  or  her 
new  engines,  the  forerunner  of  the  modern  quadruple- 
expansion  arrangement,  but  through  his  brain  rang 
the  assurance:  "Everybody  will  be  there."  And  all 
the  way  up  the  street,  it  repeated  itself  again  and 
again. 


CHAPTER    IX 

"COMUS*   MISTICK   WITCHERIES" 

That  elusive,  nocturnal  company,  "The  Mistick 
Krewe  of  Comus,"  had  appeared — "Comus,  deep 
skilled  in  all  his  mother's  witcheries" — and  the  dwell- 
ers in  Phantasmagoria  were  joyfully  numerous. 
More  plentiful  than  at  a  modern  spectacular  perform- 
ance, reveled  gods,  demons  and  fairies,  while  the  chil- 
dren resembled  a  flight  of  masquerading  butterflies. 
The  ball  at  the  theater,  the  Roman  Veglioni,  suc- 
ceeded elaborate  tableaux,  the  "Tartarus,"  of  the  an- 
cients, and  "Paradise  Lost,"  of  Milton,  in  which  the 
"Krewe"  impersonated  Pluto  and  Proserpine,  the 
fates,  harpies  and  other  characters  of  the  representa- 
tion. In  gallery,  dress-circle  and  parquet,  the  thea- 
ter was  crowded,  the  spectacle,  one  of  dazzling  toilets, 
many  of  them  from  the  ateliers  of  the  Parisian  mod- 
istes ;  a  wonderful  evolution  of  Proserpine's  toga  and 
the  mortal  robes  of  the  immortal  Fates.  Picture  fol- 
lowed picture:  The  expulsion  from  Paradise;  the 
conference  of  the  Gorgons,  and  the  court  of  pande- 
monium, where  gluttony,  drunkenness,  avarice  and 
(476) 


"MI  STICK   WITCHERIES"      477 

vanity  were  skilfully  set  forth  in  uncompromising 
colors. 

Availing  themselves  of  the  open-house  of  the  un- 
known "Krewe,"  a  composite  host  that  vanished  on  the 
stroke  of  twelve,  many  of  "Old  Rough  and  Ready's" 
retinue  mingled  with  the  gathering,  their  uniforms, 
well-worn,  even  shabby,  unlike  the  spick  and  span 
regimentals  from  the  costumier.  With  bronzed  faces 
and  the  indubitable  air  of  campaigns  endured,  they 
were  the  objects  of  lively  interest  to  the  fair  maskers, 
nor  were  themselves  indifferent  to  the  complaisance 
of  their  entertainers.  Hands,  burned  by  the  sun, 
looked  blacker  that  night,  against  the  white  gowns  of 
waists  they  clasped ;  bearded  faces  more  grim  visaged 
in  contrast  with  delicate  complexions ;  embroidery  and 
brocade  whirled  around  with  faded  uniforms;  and 
dancing  aigrettes  waved  above  frayed  epaulets  and 
shoulder  straps. 

"Loog  at  'im!"  murmured  a  fille  d.  la  cassette,  re- 
garding one  of  these  officers  who,  however,  held  aloof 
from  the  festivities ;  a  well-built  young  man,  but  thin 
and  worn,  as  though  he,  like  his  uniform,  had  seen 
service.  "If  he  would  only  carry  my  trunk!"  she 
laughed,  relapsing  into  French  and  alluding  to  the 
small  chest  she  bore  under  her  arm. 

"Or  my  little  white  lamb!"  gaily  added  her  com- 
panion, a  shepherdess. 

And  they  tripped  by  with'  sidelong  looks  and  ob- 
vious challenge  which  the  quarry  of  these  sprightly 
huntresses  of  men  either  chose  to  disregard  or  was 


478  THE    STROLLERS 

unconscious  of,  as  he  deliberately  surveyed  his  sur- 
roundings with  more  curiosity  than  pleasure  and  ab- 
sently listened  to*  a  mountebank  from  "The  Belle's 
Strategem." 

"Who'll  buy  my  nostrums?"  cried  the  buffoon. 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Folly,  cantering  near  on  a 
hobby  horse. 

"Different  kinds  for  different  people.  Here's  a 
powder  for  ladies — to  dispel  the  rage  for  intrigue. 
Here's  a  pill  for  politicians — to  settle  bad  consciences. 
Here's  an  eye-water  for  jealous  husbands — it  thick- 
ens the  visual  membrane.  Here's  something  for  the 
clergy — it  eliminates  windy  discourses.  Here's  an 
infusion  for  creditors — it  creates  resignation  and 
teaches  patience." 

"And  what  have  you  for  lovers?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  the  clown;  "love  like  fever 
and  ague  must  run  its  course.  Nostrums!  Who'll 
buy  my  nostrums?" 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  I  came!"  enthusiastically  ex- 
claimed a  tall,  supple  girl,  laden  with  a  mass  of  flowers. 

"Isn't  it  too  bad,  though,  you  can't  polka  with  some 
of  the  military  gentlemen?"  returned  her  companion 
who  wore  a  toga  and  carried  a  lantern.  "Mademoi- 
selle Castiglione  wouldn't  let  you  come,  until  I  prom- 
ised not  to  allow  you  out  of  my  sight." 

"It  was  lovely  of  you  to  take  me,"  she  said,  "and  I 
don't  mind  about  the  military  gentlemen." 

"My  dear,  if  all  women  were  like  you,  we  poor 
civilians  would  not  be  relegated  to  the  background! 


"MISTICK   WITCHERIES 


479 


I  wish,  though,  I  had  worn  some  other  costume. 
This — ahem,  dress! — has  a  tendency  to  get  between 
my  legs  and  disconcert  my  philosophical  dignity.  I 
can  understand  why  Diogenes  didn't  care  about  walk- 
ing abroad.  My  only  wonder  is  that  everybody 
didn't  stay  in  his  tub  in  those  days.  Don't  talk  to 
me  about  the  'noble  Roman !'  Why,  he  wore  skirts !" 

"And  Monsieur  Intaglio  lectured  to  us  for  an  hour 
to-day  about  the  wonderful  drapery  of  the  ancients !" 
laughed  the  girl.  "The  poetry  of  dress,  he  called  it !" 

"Then  I  prefer  prose.  Hello!" — pausing  and  rais- 
ing his  lantern,  as  they  drew  near  the  officer  who  had 
fallen  under  the  observation  of  the  fille  a  la  cassette. 
"Colonel  Saint-Prosper,  or  set  me  down  for  an  ass — or 
Plato,  which  is  the  same  thing!" 

"Straws !"  said  the  soldier,  as  the  bard  frankly 
lifted  his  mask  and  tilted  it  back  over  his  forehead. 

"Glad  to  see  you!"  continued  the  poet,  extending 
his  hand.  "I  haven't  run  across  you  before  since  the 
night  of  the  banquet;  the  debut  of  Barnes'  company 
you  remember?  You  must  have  left  town  shortly 
afterward.  Returned  this  morning,  of  course!  By 
the  way,  there's  one  of  your  old  friends  here  to- 
night." 

Saint-Prosper  felt  the  color  mount  to  his  face,  and 
even  Straws  noted  the  change.  "Who  is  that?" 
asked  the  soldier,  awkwardly. 

"Mrs.  Service — Miss  Duran  that  was — now  one  of 
our  most  dashing — I  should  say,  charitable,  ladies. 
Plenty  of  men  at  Service's  church  now.  She's 


480  THE    STROLLERS 

dressed  in  Watteau-fashion  to-night,  so  if  you  see 
any  one  skipping  around,  looking  as  though  she  had 
just  stepped  from  the  Embarkation  for  the  Island  of 
Venus,  set  her  down  for  the  minister's  pretty  wife!" 

"And  the  minister?"  asked  Saint-Prosper,  mechan- 
ically. 

"He  brought  her;  he  compromised  on  a  Round- 
head costume,  himself !  But  we  must  be  off.  An  re- 
voir;  don't  be  backward ;  the  ladies  are  all  military- 
mad.  It  may  be  a  field  of  arms" — casting  his  glance 
over  the  assemblage  of  fashionably  dressed  ladies, 
with  a  quizzical  smile — "but  not  hostile  arms !  Come, 
Celestina — Nydia,  I  mean  !" 

And  Straws'  arm  stole  about  the  waist  of  his  com- 
panion, as  Saint-Prosper  watched  them  disappearing 
in  the  throng  of  dancers.  It  was  Celestina's  first 
ball,  and  after  her  long  training  at  the  Castiglione 
institute,  she  danced  divinely.  Evidently,  too,  she 
was  reconciled  to  the  warden's  edict,  denying  her  the 
freedom  of  the  ball-room,  for  she  showed  no  disposi- 
tion to  escape  from  Straws'  watchful  care.  On  the 
contrary,  though  her  glance  wandered  to  the  wonders 
around  her,  they  quickly  returned  to  the  philosopher 
with  the  lamp,  as  though  she  courted  the  restraint  to 
which  she  was  subjected.  Something  like  a  pang 
shot  through  the  soldier's  breast  as  he  followed  the 
pair  with  his  gaze ;  he  seemed  looking  backward  into 
a  world  of  youth  and  pleasure,  passed  beyond  recall. 

"It  is  useless  to  deny  it!  I  knew  you  when  I  first 
saw  you!"  exclaimed  a  familiar  voice  near  by,  and 


"MISTICK   WITCHERIES"      481 

turning  around  sharply,  the  officer  observed  approach- 
ing a  masked  lady,  graceful  of  figure  and  lacking  noth- 
ing in  the  numerical  strength  of  her  escort.  It  was  to 
her  that  these  words  were  addressed  by  an  agile  man 
of  medium  stature  who  had  apparently  penetrated  her 
disguise.  The  lady,  who  would  have  attracted  at- 
tention anywhere  by  her  bearing,  wore  a  pardessus 
of  white  gauze,  fitting  close  and  bordered  with  a  sil- 
ver band ;  the  sleeves,  short ;  the  skirt  of  white  gauze 
and  very  ample,  as  the  fashion  of  the  day  required; 
the  feet  shod  in  small  white  silk  "bottines" ;  the  hair 
in  bands,  ornamented  with  wild  poppies.  Altogether 
this  costume  was  described  by  Phazma  as  "ravishing, 
the  gown  adorning  the  lady,  and  the  lady  the  gown, 
her  graces  set  forth  against  the  sheen  of  voluminous 
satin  folds,  like  those  of  some  portrait  by  Sir  Joshua 
or  Gainsborough." 

"How  could  you  expect  any  one  not  to  know  you  ?" 
continued  the  speaker,  as  this  little  coterie  drew  near, 
their  masks  a  pretext  for  mystery.  "You  may  im- 
personate, but  you  can  not  deceive." 

"That  is  a  poor  compliment,  since  you  take  me  for 
an  actress,"  laughed  the  lady.  An  hilarious  outburst 
from  an  ill-assorted  cluster  of  maskers  behind  them 
drowned  his  reply,  and  the  lady  and  her  attendants 
passed  on. 

Saint-Prosper  drew  his  breath  sharply.  "She  is 
here,  after  all,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"A  nostrum  for  jilted  beaux!"  called  out  a  mounte- 
bank, seeing  him  standing  there,  pre-occupied,  alone, 


482  THE    STROLLERS 

at  the  same  time  tendering  a  pill  as  large  as  a  plum. 
A  punchinello  jarred  against  him  with:  "Pardonnez 
moi,  pardie!"  On  the  perfumed  air  the  music  swelled 
rapturously ;  a  waltz,  warm  with  the  national  life  of 
Vienna;  the  swan  song  of  Lanner!  Softly,  sweetly, 
breathed  "Die  Schonbrunner ;"  faster  whirled  the  mov- 
ing forms.  Eyes  flashed  more  brightly;  little  feet 
seemed  born  for  dancing ;  cheeks,  pale  at  midday,  were 
flushed  with  excitement !  Why  doesn't  he  dance,  won- 
dered the  lady  with  the  white  lamb.  Carnival  comes 
but  once  a  year ;  a  mad,  merry  time ;  when  gaiety 
should  sweep  all  cares  out  of  doors! 

"  Said  Strephon  to  Chloe:  'For  a  kiss, 

I'll  give  thee  the  choice  of  my  flock.' 
Said  Chloe  to  Strephon:  '  What  bliss, 
If  you'll  add  to  the  gift  a  new  smock,' " 

hummed  the  lively  nymph,  as  she  tripped  by. 

"  Said  Chloe  to  Strephon:  'For  a  kiss, 

I'll  return  thee  the  choice  of  jour  flock. 
Said  Strephon  to  Chloe:  '  What  bliss, 
With  it  I'll  buy  Phyllis  a  new  frock,' " 

she  concluded,  throwing  a  glance  over  her  shoulder. 
A  sudden  distaste  for  the  festal  ferment,  the  laugh- 
ter and  merriment;  a  desire  to  escape  from  the  very 
exuberance  of  high  spirits  and  cheer  led  the  soldier 
to  make  his  way  slowly  from  the  ball-room  to  the  bal- 
cony, where,  although  not  removed  from  the  echoes 
of  liveliness  within,  he  looked  out  upon  the  quietude 
of  the  night.  Overhead  stretched  the  sky,  a  measure- 


4^3 

less  ocean,  with  here  and  there  a  silvery  star  like  the 
light  on  a  distant  ship;  an  unfathomable  sea  of  ether 
that  beat  down  upon  him.  Radiant  and  serene,  in  the 
boundless  calm  of  the  heavens,  the  splendent  lanterns 
seemed  suspended  on  stationary  craft  peacefully 
rocked  at  anchor.  Longings,  suppressed  through 
months  of  absence,  once  more  found  full  sway;  Su- 
san's words  were  recalled  by  the  presence  of  the  count. 

Suddenly. the  song  of  "Die  Schonbrunner"  ceased 
within,  and,  as  its  pulsations  became  hushed,  many  of 
the  dancers,  an  elate,  buoyant  throng,  sought  the  bal- 
cony. Standing  in  the  shadow  near  the  entrance, 
aroused  from  a  train  of  reflections  by  this  abrupt  ex- 
odus, the  soldier  saw  among  the  other  merry-makers, 
Constance  and  the  count,  who  passed  through  the  door, 
so  near  he  could  almost  have  touched  her. 

"Here  she  is,"  said  the  count,  as  they  approached 
an  elderly  lady,  seated  near  the  edge  of  the  balcony. 
"Ah,  Madam,"  he  continued  to  the  latter,  "if  you 
would  only  use  your  good  offices  in  my  behalf !  Miss 
Carew  is  cruelty  itself." 

"Why,  what  has  she  done?"  asked  the  good  gentle- 
woman. 

"Insisted  upon  deserting  the  ball-room !" 

"In  my  day,"  said  the  elderly  ally  of  the  nobleman, 
"you  could  not  drag  the  young  ladies  from  cotillion 
or  minuet.  And  the  men  would  stay  till  the  dawn  to 
toast  them!" 

"And  I've  no  doubt,  Madam,  your  name  was  often 
on  their  lips,"  returned  the  count  gallantly,  who  evi- 


484 

dently  believed  in  the  Spanish  proverb:  "Woo  the 
duenna,  not  the  maid;  then  in  love  the  game's  well 
played !" 

The  ally  in  his  cause  made  some  laughing  response 
which  the  soldier  did  not  hear.  Himself  unseen, 
Saint-Prosper  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  figure  of  the 
young  girl,  shadowy  but  obvious  in  the  reflected  light 
of  the  bright  constellations.  Even  as  he  gazed,  her 
hand  removed  the  mask,  revealing  the  face  he  knew 
so  well.  In  the  silence  below,  the  fountain  tinkled 
ever  so  loudly,  as  she  stood,  half-turned  toward  the 
garden,  a  silken  head-covering  around  her  shoul- 
ders; the  head  outlined  without  adornment,  save  the 
"  poppies  in  her  hair. 

Her  presence  recalled  scenes  of  other  days :  the 
drive  from  the  races,  when  her  eyes  had  beamed  so 
softly  beneath  the  starry  luster.  Did  she  remem- 
ber ?.  He  dared  not  hope  so ;  he  did  not.  To  him,  it 
brought,  also,  harsher  memories;  yet  his  mind  was 
filled  most  with  her  beauty,  which  appeared  to  gloss 
over  all  else  and  hold  him,  a  not  impassive  spectator, 
to  the  place  where  she  was  standing.  She  seemed 
again  Juliet — the  Juliet  of  inns  and  school-house 
stages — the  Juliet  he  had  known  before  she  had  come 
to  New  Orleans,  whose  genius  had  transformed  the 
barren  stage  into  a  garden  of  her  own  creation. 

And  yet  something  made  her  different;  an  inde- 
finable new  quality  appeared  to  rest  upon  her.  He 
felt  his  heart  beating  faster ;  he  was  glad  he  had  come ; 
for  the  moment  he  forgot  his  jealousy  in  watching 


"MI  STICK   WITCHERIES"      485 

her,  as  with  new  wealth  of  perfume,  the  languid 
breeze  stirred  the  tresses  above  her  pallid,  immovable 
features.  But  the  expression  of  confidence  with 
which  the  count  was  regarding  her,  although  ostensi- 
bly devoting  himself  to  her  companion,  renewed  his 
inquietude. 

Had  she  allowed  herself  to  be  drawn  into  a  prom- 
ised alliance  with  that  titled  roue?  Involuntarily 
the  soldier's  face  grew  hard  and  stern;  the  count's 
tactics  were  so  apparent — flattering  attention  to  the 
elderly  gentlewoman  and  a  devoted,  but  reserved, 
bearing  toward  the  young  girl  in  which  he  would 
rely  upon  patience  and  perseverance  for  the  consum- 
mation of  his  wishes.  But  certainly  Constance  did 
not  exhibit  marked  preference  for  his  society;  on  the 
contrary,  she  had  hardly  spoken  to  him  since  they 
had  left  the  ball-room.  Now  clasping  the  iron  railing 
of  the  balcony,  she  leaned  farther  out;  the  flowers  of 
the  vine,  clambering  up  one  of  the  supports,  swayed 
gently  around  her,  and  she  started  at  the  moist  caress 
on  her  bare  arm. 

"It  is  cold  here,"  she  said,  drawing  back. 

"Allow  me — your  wrap!"  exclaimed  the  count, 
springing  to  her  side  with  great  solicitude. 

But  she  adjusted  the  garment  without  his  assist- 
ance. 

"You  must  be  careful  of  your  health— for  the  sake 
of  your  friends!"  Accompanying  the  words  with  a 
significant  glance. 


486  THE    STROLLERS 

"The  count  is  right!"  interposed  the  elderly  gen- 
tlewoman. "As  he  usually  is!"  she  added,  laughing. 

"Oh,  Madam!"  he  said,  bowing.  "Miss  Carew 
does  not  agree  with  you,  I  am  sure?"  Turning  to 
the  girl. 

"I  haven't  given  the  matter  any  thought,"  she  re- 
plied, coldly.  She  shivered  slightly,  nervously,  and 
looked  around. 

At  that  moment  the  lights  were  turned  on  in  the 
garden — another  surprise  arranged  by  the  Mistick 
Krewe! — illuminating  trees  and  shrubbery,  and  cast- 
ing a  sudden  glare  upon  the  balcony. 

"Bravo!"  said  the  count.  "It's  like  a  fete-cham- 
petre!  And  hear  the  mandolins!  Tra-la-la-la-la ! 
Why,  what  is  it?" 

She  had  given  a  sudden  cry  and  stood  staring 
toward  the  right  at  the  back  of  the  balcony.  Within, 
the  ^orchestra  once  more  began  to  play,  and,  as  the 
strains  of  music  were  wafted  to  them,  a  host  of 
masqueraders  started  toward  the  ball-room.  When 
the  inflow  of  merry-makers  had  ceased,  bewildered, 
trembling,  she  looked  with  blanched  face  toward  the 
spot  where  the  soldier  had  been  standing,  but  he  was 
gone. 

At  that  moment  the  cathedral  clock  began  to  strike 
— twelve  times  it  sounded,  and,  at  the  last  stroke,  the 
Mistick  Krewe,  one  by  one  began  to  disappear,  van- 
ishing as  mysteriously  as  they  had  come.  Pluto, 
Proserpine,  the  Fates,  fairies  and  harpies ;  Satan, 
Beelzebub;  the  dwellers  in  pandemonium;  the  aids  to 


"MI  STICK   WITCHERIES"      487 

appetite — all  took  their  quick  departure,  leaving  the 
musicians  and  the  guests  of  the  evening,  including 
the  visiting  military,  to  their  own  pleasures  and  de- 
vices. The  first  carnival  had  come  to  a  close. 


CHAPTER    X 

CONSTANCE   AND   THE   SOLDIER 

"Are  you  the  clerk?"  A  well-modulated  voice;  a 
silvery  crown  of  hair  leaning  over  the  counter  of  the 
St.  Charles;  blue  eyes,  lighted  with  unobtrusive  in- 
quiry. 

The  small,  quiet-looking  man  addressed  glanced 
up.  "No,"  he  said ;  "I  am  the  proprietor.  This" — 
waving  his  hand  to  a  resplendent-appearing  person 
—"is  the  clerk." 

Whereupon  the  be-diamonded  individual  indicated 
(about  whom  an  entire  chapter  has  been  written  by 
an  observing  English  traveler!)  came  forward  leisure- 
ly; a  Brummell  in  attire;  an  Aristarchus  for  taste! 
Since  his  period — or  reign — there  have  been  many 
imitators ;  but  he  was  the  first ;  indeed,  created  the 
office,  and  is  deserving  of  a  permanent  place  in  Amer- 
ican annals.  "His  formality  just  bordered  on  stiff- 
ness," wrote  the  interested  Briton,  as  though  he  were 
studying  some  new  example  of  the  human  species ; 
"his  conversation  was  elegant,  but  pointed,  as  he  was 
gifted  with  a  cultured  economy  of  language.  He  ac- 
(488), 


CONSTANCE  489 

complished  by  inflection  what  many  people  can  only 
attain  through  volubility." 

"Yes?"  he  interrogatively  remarked,  gazing  down 
at  the  caller  in  the  present  instance. 

"Is  Colonel  Saint-Prosper  stopping  here  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Send  this  card  to  his  room." 

"Yes?"    Doubtfully. 

"Is  there  any  reason  why  you  shouldn't?" 

"There  was  a  military  banquet  last  night,"  inter- 
posed the  quiet,  little  man.  "Patriotism  bubbled  over 
until  morning." 

"Ah,  yes,"  commented  Culver — for  it  was  he — 
"fought  their  battles  over  again!  Some  of  them 
in  the  hospital  to-day!  Well,  well,  they  suffered 
in  a  glorious  cause,  toasting  the  president,  and  the 
army,  and  the  flag,  and  the  gir,ls  they  left  behind 
them!  I  read  the  account  of  it  in  the  papers  this 
morning.  Grand  speech  of  the  bishop;  glorious  re- 
sponse of  'Old  Rough  and  Ready' !  You  are  right  to 
protect  sleeping  heroes,  but  I'm  afraid  I  must  run  the 
guard,  as  my  business  is  urgent." 

A  few  moments  later  the  lawyer,  breathing  heavily, 
followed  a  colored  lad  down  a  crimson-carpeted  cor- 
ridor, pausing  before  a  door  upon  which  his  guide 
knocked  vigorously  and  then  vanished. 

"Colonel  Saint-Prosper?"  said  the  lawyer,  as  he 
obeyed  the  voice  within  and  entered  the  room,  where 
a  tall  young  man  in  civilian  attire  was  engaged  in 
packing  a  small  trunk.  "One  moment,  pray— let  me 


490  THE   STROLLERS 

catch  my  breath.  That  lad  accomplished  the  ascent 
two  steps  at  a  time,  and,  I  fear,  the  spectacle  stimu- 
lated me  to  unusual  expedition.  We're  apt  to  forget 
we  are  old  and  can't  keep  up  with  boys  and  mon- 
keys!" 

During  this  somewhat  playful  introduction  the  at- 
torney was  studying  the  occupant  of  the  room  with 
keen,  bright  gaze ;  a  glance  which,  without  being  of- 
fensive, was  sufficiently  penetrating  and  comprehen- 
sive to  convey  a  definite  impression  of  the  other's  face 
and  figure.  The  soldier  returned  his  visitor's  look 
deliberately,  but  with  no  surprise. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  he  said. 

Culver  availed  himself  of  the  invitation.  "I  am  not 
disturbing  you  ?  I  have  long  known  of  you,  although 
this  is  our  first  meeting." 

"You  have  then  the  advantage  of  me,"  returned 
Saint-Prosper,  "for  I—" 

"You  never  heard  of  me?"  laughed  the  lawyer. 
"Exactly!  We  attorneys  are  always  getting  our  fin- 
gers in  every  one's  affairs!  I  am  acquainted  with 
you,  as  it  were,  from  the  cradle  to  the — present !" 

"I  am  unexpectedly  honored!"  remarked  the  lis- 
tener, satirically. 

"First,  I  knew  you  through  the  Marquis  de  Ligne." 

Saint-Prosper  started  and  regarded  his  visitor  more 
closely. 

"I  was  the  humble  instrument  of  making  a  fortune 
for  you ;  it  was  also  my  lot  to  draw  up  the  papers  de- 
priving you  of  the  same!"  Culver  laughed  amiably. 


CONSTANCE  491 

"  'Oft  expectation  fails,  where  most  it  promises.' 
Pardon  my  levity!  There  were  two  wills;  the  first, 
in  your  favor;  the  last,  in  his  daughter's.  I  pre- 
sume"— with  a  sudden,  sharp  look — "you  have  no  in- 
tention of  contesting  the  final  disposition?  The  pa- 
ternity of  the  child  is  established  beyond  doubt." 

Artful  Culver  was  not  by  any  means  so  sure  in 
his  own  mind  that,  if  the  other  were  disposed  to  make 
trouble,  the  legal  proofs  of  Constance's  identity  would 
be  so  easily  forth-coming.  Barnes  was  dead;  her 
mother  had  passed  away  many  years  before;  the 
child  Had  been  born  in  London — where? — ;  the  mar- 
quis' rationality,  just  before  his  demise,  was  a  debata- 
ble question.  In  fact,  since  he  had  learned  Saint- 
Prosper  was  in  the  city,  the  attorney's  mind  had  been 
soaring  among  a  cloud  of  vague  possibilities,  and 
now,  regarding  his  companion  with  a  most  kindly, 
ingratiating  smile,  he  added: 

"Besides,  when  the  marquis  took  you  as  a  child 
into  his  household,  there  were,  I  understood,  no  legal 
papers  drawn!" 

"I  don't  see  what  your  visit  portends,"  said  Saint- 
Prosper,  "unless  there  is  some  other  matter?" 

"Just  so,"  returned  Culver,  his  doubts  vanishing. 
"There  was  a  small  matter— a  slight  commission. 
Miss  Carew  requested  me  to  hand  you  this  message." 
The  visitor  now  detected  a  marked  change  in  the 
soldier's  imperturbable  bearing,  as  the  latter  took  the 
envelope  which  the  attorney  offered  him.  "The  young 
lady  saw  you  at  the  Mistick  Krewe  ball  last  night, 


492  THE   STROLLERS 

and,  recognizing  an  old  friend," — with  a  slight  ac- 
cent— "pressed  me  into  her  service.  And  now,  hav- 
ing completed  my  errand,  I  will  wish  you  good-morn- 
ing!" And  the  lawyer  briskly  departed. 

The  young  man's  hand  trembled  as  he  tore  open  the 
envelope,  but  he  surveyed  the  contents  of  the  brief 
message  with  tolerable  firmness. 

"  COLONEL  SAINT-PROSPER  :  Will  you  kindly  call  this  morn- 
ing to  see  me?  CONSTANCE  CAREW." 

That  was  all;  nothing  more,  save  the  address  and 
the  date!  How  long  he  remained  staring  at  it  with 
mingled  feelings  he  never  knew,  but  finally  with  a 
start,  looked  at  his  watch,  thoughtfully  regarded  the 
half-filled  trunk,  donned  his  coat  and  left  the  room. 
Several  fellow-officers,  the  first  of  the  sluggards  to 
appear,  spoke  to  him  as  he  crossed  the  hall  below, 
but  what  they  said  or  what  he  replied  he  could  not 
afterward  remember.  Some  one  detained  him  at  the 
steps,  a  gentleman  with  a  longing  for  juleps,  but 
finally  he  found  himself  in  a  carriage,  driving  some- 
where, presumably  to  the  address  given  in  the  letter. 
How  long  the  drive  seemed,  and  yet  when  the  car- 
riage finally  stopped  and  he  had  paid  his  fare,  he 
mentally  determined  it  had  been  too  short!  The 
driver  gazed  in  surprise  after  the  gentleman,  who 
did- not  wait  for  his  change,  but,  forbearing  injudicious 
comment,  gathered  up  the  reins  and  drove  to "  the 
nearest  cafe. 

From  the  carriage  the  house  was  some  distance,  and 


CONSTANCE  493 

yet  it  appeared  very  near  the  gate  to  tHe  soldier,  who 
dimly  realized  he  was  passing  through  a  garden  where 
were  many  flowering  plants  and  where  the  air  was 
unusually  heavy  with  perfume.  Many  other  details, 
the  construction  of  the  house,  the  size  of  the  verandas, 
passed  without  attracting  his  notice.  Soon,  however, 
he  was  seated  in  a  great  room,  an  apartment  of  old- 
fashioned  height  and  breadth.  He  felt  his  heart 
beating  fast.  How  long  did  he  sit  there?  No  in- 
considerable period,  surely.  He  examined  every- 
thing carefully,  without  carrying  a  definite  impres- 
sion of  anything  to  his  mind.  The  large,  carved 
mirror ;  the  quaint  decoration  of  walls  and  frieze ;  the 
soft  colors  of  the  rug  that  covered  the  floor ;  the  hun- 
dred and  one  odd  little  things  in  the  cabinet  near 
the  chair  where  he  was  seated,  trifles  in  ivory,  old 
silver  and  china;  the  pictures,  a  Van  Dyke,  Claude, 
and  a  few  modern  masters.  After  this  interminable, 
but  confused  scrutiny  of  inanimate  things,  his  heart 
beat  faster  still,  as  a  tall  figure,  robed  in  white,  entered 
the  room ! 

He  rose;  they  regarded  each  other  with  mutual 
constraint ;  her  face  had  a  bit  of  color,  like  the  tinge 
of  a  rose-leaf;  her  eyes  seemed  agitated  beneath  the 
sweeping  lashes,  a  sentiment  in  ill  accord  with  the 
stateliness  of  her  presence.  She  gave  him  her  hand ; 
he  held  it  he  knew  not  how  long ;  probably,  for  the  con- 
ventional moment.  They  found  themselves,  each  in  a 
chair ;  at  ease,  yet  not  at  ease ;  he  studying  her  face, 
furtively,  yet  eagerly;  she  turning  in  her  fancy  the 


494  THE    STROLLERS 

first  strong  impression  of  how  gaunt  and  haggard 
were  his  features,  bearing  the  traces  of  recent  illness ! 

"I  am  glad  you  came,"  she  began,  their  eyes  meet- 
ing once  more. 

He  bowed.  "Mr.  Culver  brought  me  your  mes- 
sage." 

"I  heard  that  you — it  was  reported  you  were  dead." 

"I  was  wounded ;  that  was  all,  and  soon  took  to  the 
field  again." 

The  suspense  that  fell  between  them  was  oppres- 
sive. 

"You  should  have  let  your  friends — know,"  she 
said  at  length. 

He  looked  at  her  curiously,  vivid  memories  of  their 
last  interview  recurring  to  him.  Indecisively  she  in- 
terlaced her  fingers,  and  he,  watching  them,  wondered 
why  she  had  sent  for  him.  Suddenly  she  rose, 
walked  to  the  window,  and  stood,  looking  out.  He, 
sitting  in  the  dim  light,  in  a  maze  of  uncertainty,  was 
vaguely  conscious  of  her  figure  outlined  against  the 
brightness  without;  of  the  waving,  yellow  flowers  of 
the  vines  on  the  veranda. 

"It  is  long  since  we  have  met,"  he  said,  awkwardly. 

She  did  not  answer.  Had  she  heard?  Yet  he  did 
not  resent  her  silence.  If  he  had  ever  felt  anger  for 
her  it  had  all  vanished  now.  He  was  only  conscious 
of  regarding  her  more  attentively,  as  she  still  re- 
mained, gazing  out  into  the  sunlit  garden. 

"Much  has  happened  since  I  saw  you,"  he  con- 
tinued. 


CONSTANCE  495 

She  turned ;  her  eyes  were  moist ;  her  hand  trembled 
a  little  against  her  dress,  but  she  held  her  head  proud- 
ly, as  she  had  always  done,  and  it  was  the  aspect  of 
this  weakness  set  against  strength  that  appealed 
swiftly  to  him,  softening  his  heart  so  that  he  longed 
to  spring  to  her  side. 

"Yes,  much!"  she  replied. 

Was  her  voice  tremulous,  or  was  it  but  the  thrill 
of  his  own  heart  which  made  it  seem  so? 

"You  have  been  here  long?"  she  asked,  still  holding 
back  what  was  on  her  mind  or  blindly  endeavoring 
to  approach  the  subject. 

"Only  since  yesterday." 

"And  you  remain  some  time?" 

"I  am  leaving  to-day — for  France." 

At  that  a  touch  of  color  left  her  face,  or  was  it 
that  a  darkening  shadow  fell  upon  the  house  and 
garden,  momentarily  chastening  the  outlook? 

"For  France?"  she  repeated. 

Her  lips  quivered.  Something  seemed  to  still  the 
beating  of  his  heart. 

"Constance — what  is  it?"  he  half-whispered. 

She  stepped  forward  suddenly,  her  hands  out- 
stretched. 

"I  wronged  you!"  she  cried.  "I  wronged  you. 
I  thought  the  disgrace  was  yours.  Oh,  do  not 
speak !"  she  added,  passionately.  "I  have  suffered  for 
it — and  now,  would  you  mind — please — leaving  me?" 

"You  thought  the  disgrace  was  mine !"  he  repeated, 
slowly.  "Not  my"— he  broke  off  abruptly.  "And 


496  THE    STROLLERS 

you  suffered— for  it?"  he  said,  wonderingly.  "Then 
you — "  He  arose  quickly  and  approached  her,  a  new 
expression  transfiguring  his  bronzed  and  worn  young 
face. 

Swiftly  he  sought  her  glance;  her  eyes  gave  irre- 
futable answer.  Unresistingly,  she  abandoned  her- 
self to  his  arms,  and  he  felt  her  bosom  rise  and  fall 
with  conflicting  emotions.  Closely  he  held  her,  in 
the  surprise  and  surpassing  pleasure  of  the  moment ; 
then,  bending,  he  kissed  her  lips.  A  wave  of  color 
flooded  her  face,  though  her  eyes  still  sought  his.  But 
even  as  he  regarded  her,  the  clear,  open  look  gradu- 
ally changed,  replaced  by  one  of  half-perplexity,  half- 
reproach. 

"That  night  you  went  away — why  did  you  not  de- 
fend yourself?"  she  asked,  finally. 

"I  never  imagined — any  mistake.  Besides,  what 
had  I  to  offer  ?  Your  future  was  bright ;  your  name, 
on  every  one's  lips !" 

"Did  you  think  you  were  responsible  for  another's 
sins?" 

His  dark  features  clouded. 

"I  suppose  I  had  become  accustomed  to  cold  looks. 
In  Africa,  by  some  of  my  comrades  who  had  an  ink- 
ling of  the  story!  No  matter  what  I  did,  I  was  his 
brother !  And  the  bitterest  part  was  that  I  loved  him ; 
loved  him  from  my  boyhood !  He  was  the  handsomest, 
most  joyous  fellow!  Even  when  he  died  in  my  arms 
in  Mexico  my  heart  could  not  absolutely  turn  from 
him." 


CONSTANCE  497 

She  opened  her  lips  as  if  to  speak,  but  the  shadow 
on  his  face  kept  her  silent. 

"I  was  weak  enough  to  keep  the  story  from  you  in 
the  first  place — a  foolish  reticence,  for  these  matters 
follow  a  man  to  the  ends  of  the  world." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "to  think  it  was  I  who  made  you  feel 
this!" 

He  took  her  hand;  his  grasp  hurt  her  fingers;  yet 
she  did  not  shrink. 

"You  showed  me  a  new  world,"  he  answered, 
quickly.  "Not  the  world  I  expected  to  find — where 
life  would  hold  little  of  joy  or  zest — but  a  magical 
world;  a  beautiful  world;  yours!" 

She  half-hung  her  head.     "But  then — then — " 

"It  became  a  memory ;  bitter-sweet ;  yet  more  sweet 
than  bitter !" 

"And  now?" 

He  did  not  answer  immediately. 

The  figure  of  the  count,  as  he  had  seen  him  the 
night  before,  had  abruptly  entered  his  mind.  Did  she 
understand  ?  She  smiled. 

"And  now?" 

At  her  question  he  dismissed  all  thought  of  jeal- 
ousy. Looking  into  her  clear,  half-laughing  eyes,  he 
read  of  no  entangling  alliances;  without  words  from 
her,  he  understood. 

"Shall  we  go  into  the  garden  ?"  she  said,  and,  open- 
ing the  window,  they  stepped  out  upon  the  veranda. 

In  the  sky  a  single  large  cloud  stretched  itself  in 
a  dreamy  torpor,  too  sluggish,  apparently  to  move, 


498  THE   STROLLERS 

while  a  brood  of  little  clouds  nestled  and  slept  around 
it.  From  the  window,  the  count's  ally  watched  them, 
among  the  plants  and  vines,  pausing  now  and  then; 
their  interest  more  in  themselves  than  in  the  liveliest 
hues  or  forms  that  nature  offered.  He  stood  still,  re- 
garding his  shadow  on  the  path  seriously. 

"Nearly  noon  by  the  soldier's  dial !"  he  said. 

She  pushed  back  the  hair  the  wind  had  blown  about 
her  brow. 

"My  boat  sails  in  an  hour,"  he  continued. 

"But — you  are  not — going — now?" 

"If  I  stay,  it  must  be—" 

"Forever!"  she  said.     "Forever!" 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  said  Susan  to  the 
count. 

"Secular?"  drawled  the  erstwhile  emissary.  He 
was  in  ill-humor,  having  called  three  times  on  Con- 
stance, who  had  been  excused  on  all  these  occasions. 

"Not  necessarily,"  replied  she,  with  the  old  familiar 
toss  of  the  head.  "Saint-Prosper  has  come  back,  and 
he's  going  to  marry  Constance !" 

"Eh?  What?  I  don't  be—  Who  told  you?"  de- 
manded the  count,  sharply. 

"Well,  you  needn't  take  my  head  off!  She  did,  if 
you  want  to  know." 

"Miss  Carew?" 

"Herself!" 

The  nobleman  lolled  back  in  his  chair,  a  dark  look 


CONSTANCE  499 

on  his  face.  Here  were  fine  hopes  gone  a-glimmer- 
ing! 

"Pardie!  the  creditors  will  have  to  wait  awhile,"  he 
thought.  "And  I — I  have  been  a  dunce,  dancing  attend- 
ance all  these  days!  I  had  hoped  to  marry  wealth 
and  beauty.  What  did  I  come  over  here  for?  The 
demned  country's  barren  of  everything!" 

"Isn't  it  delightful  they  should  meet  after  such  a 
long  time?"  rattled  on  Susan,  gaily.  "So  romantic! 
And  then  they  were  exactly  suited  for  each  other. 
Dear  me," — enthusiastically — "I  have  taken  such  an 
interest  in  them,  I  almost  feel  as  if  I  had  brought  it 
all  about." 


THE  END 


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THE 
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By  HERBERT  M.  HOPKINS 


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*  *  *  It  contains  passages  and  characterizations  that 
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wonderful  confidence  in  his  own  genius  are  admirably 
brought  out  in  the  course  of  the  narrative  and  the 
chapter  containing  his  letters  to  his  brother  is  one  of  the 
best  in  the  book.  It  shows  his  character  humorously  and 
without  exaggeration,  and  this  is  typical  of  the  whole  story. 
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"NOTHING   BUT    PRAISE" 

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A  VIVACIOUS  ROMANCE  OF  REVOLU- 
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ALICE  of  OLD 

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A    STORY  BY  THE   "MARCH    KING" 

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"A  NOVEL  THAT'S  WORTH  WHILE" 

The  REDEMPTION 
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A  Mid-century  American  Novel 
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MY  LADY  PEGGY 
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The  Daintiest  and    Most  Delightful  Book 
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THE 
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BY  HAROLD  MAcGRATH 


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heartless;  a  villain  revengeful  and  courageous;  a  hero  youth- 
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AN    ADMIRABLE    SOCIAL  STUDY  " 

THE   FALL  OF 
THE  CURTAIN 

By  HAROLD   BEGBIE 


The  purpose  of  this  brilliant  story  of  modern  English 
life  is  to  show  that  a  human  being,  well  brought-up, 
carefully  trained  in  the  outward  observances  of  religion, 
with  a  keen  intellectual  perception  of  the  difference 
between  right  and  wrong,  may  still  not  have  goodness, 
and  that  ambition  may  easily  become  the  dominating 
force  in  such  a  character.  So  the  book  may  be  called  a 
purpose  novel,  but  in  reading  it,  one  no  more  thinks  of 
applying  so  discredited  an  epithet  to  it  than  one  \\ould 
think  of  applying  it  to  "Vanity  Fair." 

The  author  possesses  an  admirable  style,  clear, 
unaffected,  strong.  To  the  discriminating  public,  the 
book  is  certain  to  give  far  more  pleasure  than  that  public 
usually  gets  from  a  new  novel. 

With  a  Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert 

Cloth,    12    mo.      Ornamental,    $1.25    Net. 
Postage,  12  Cents 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


FULL  of  INCIDENT,  ACTION  tf  COLOR 

LIKE 
ANOTHER  HELEN 

By  GEORGE  HORTON 


Mr.  Morton's  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and 
brings  an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader  — 
the  world  of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk. 

The  island  of  Crete  seems  real  and  genuine  after  reading 
this  book;  not  a  mere  spot  on  the  map.  The  tragic  and 
pathetic  troubles  of  this  people  are  told  with  sympathetic  force. 

Mr.  Horton  employs  a  vivid  style  that  keeps  the  interest 
alive  and  many  passages  are  filled  with  delicate  poetic  feeling. 

Things  happen  and  the  story  moves.  The  characters  are 
well  conceived  and  are  human  and  convincing.  Beyond  ques- 
tion Mr.  Horton' s  fine  story  is  destined  to  take  high  rank  among 
the  books  of  the  day. 

With  illus '.rations  by  C.  M.  Relyea 

I  2mo,  Cloth  bound 

Price,  $1.50 

The  Chicago  Times-Herald  says  : 

"  Here  are  chapters  that  are  Stephen  Crane  plus  sympathy; 
chapters  of  illuminated  description  fragrant  with  the  at- 
mosphere of  art. ' ' 


The  Bowen  -  Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


"A  CHRONICLE  OF  MARVELS" 

THE  FIRST  MEN 
IN  THE  MOON 


By  H.  G.  WELLS 

Author  of  "The  War  of  the  Worlds"  and  "Tales  of  Time 
and  Space." 


Mr.  Wells  writes  to  entertain  and  in  this  tale  of  the 
invention  of  "  cavorite,"  and  the  subsequent  remarkable 
journey  made  to  the  moon  by  its  inventor,  he  has  succeeded 
beyond  measure  in  alternately  astounding,  convincing  and 
delighting  his  readers.  Told  in  a  straightforward  way,  with 
an  air  of  ingenuousness  that  disaims  doubt,  the  story 
chronicles  most  marvelous  discoveries  and  adventures  on 
the  mysterious  planet.  Mr.  Hering's  many  illustrations 
are  admirable.  Altogether  the  book  is  one  of  the  most 
original  and  entertaining  volumes  that  has  appeared  in 
many  a  day. 

Profusely  Illustrated  by  E.  Hering 
izmo.,  cloth,  $1.50 

The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


"AN  INDIANA  LOVE  STORY" 

ROSALYNDE'S 
LOVERS 

By  MAURICE  THOMPSON 
Author  of  "Alice  of  Old  Vincennes" 


As  Mr.  Thompson  avers,  this  is  "only  a  love  story," 
but  it  is  a  story  of  such  sweetness  and  wholesome  life 
that  it  will  at  once  claim  a  permanent  home  in  our  affections. 
The  love  of  nature,  so  prominent  a  characteristic  of  Mr. 
Thompson,  is  reflected  throughout  and  the  thunderstorm 
and  following  gleam  of  sun,  the  country  garden  and 
southern  lake  are  each  in  turn  invested  with  a  personality 
that  wins  our  instant  sympathy.  Rosalynde  Banderet  is 
winsome  and  artless,  her  lovers  are  human  and  manly, 
and  her  final  happiness  is  ours.  Mr.  Peirson's  many 
pictures  are  entirely  worthy. 

With  many  Illustrations  and  Decorations  by 
G.  Alden  Peirson 

Ornamental  12010.    Cloth  Bound,  $i.c;o 

7     7r  +J 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


ANOTHER  SUCCESSFUL  HISTORICAL 
NOVEL 

THE    BLACK 
WOLF'S    BREED 

By  HARRIS  DICKSON 


From  the  Boston  Globe : 

f '  A  vigorous  tale  of  France  in  the  old  and  new  world  during 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV." 

From  the  Philadelphia  Press : 

"  As  delightfully  seductive  as  certain  mint-flavored  beverages 
they  make  down  South." 

From  the  Los  Angeles  Herald: 

"  The  sword-play  is  great,  even  finer  than  the  pictures  in 
«  To  Have  and  To  Hold.'  " 

From  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle  : 

"  As  fine  a  piece  of  sustained  adventure  as  has  appeared  in 
recent  fiction." 

From  the  St.  Louis  Globe- Democrat : 

"There  is  action,  vivid  description  and  intensely  dramatic 
situations." 

From  the  Indianapolis  News : 

"  So  full  offender  love-making,  of  gallant  fighting,  that  one 
regrets  it's  no  longer." 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea.     Price  $1.50 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


"IN  LONDON  OF  LONG  AGO" 

THE 
FICKLE  WHEEL 

By  HENRY  THEW  STEPHENSON 


In  this  tale  of  merry  England,  of  the  time  when 
Shakespeare  jested  and  Ben  Johnson  blustered,  Mr. 
Stephenson  has  painted  for  us  a  picture  informing  and 
above  all  entertaining.  His  is  not  a  story  of  counts 
and  crowns,  but  of  the  ever  interesting  common  people. 
Without  seeming  to  do  so  the  author  shows  us  many 
interesting  bits  of  the  life  of  the  day.  We  go  to  Paul's 
walk,  w«  see  Shakespeare  play  at  the  Globe  theatre  and 
other  such  glimpses  of  old  time  London  are  deftly  added 
to  our  experiences.  Throughout  the  book  is  an  evanescent 
charm,  a  spirit  of  wholesome  gaiety.  It  is  well  worth  while. 

With  illustrations  by  C.  M.  Relyea 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  12  mo.     Price,  $1.50 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,   Indianapolis 


A    FINE    STORY 
OF    THE    COWBOY    AT    HIS    BEST 


By  FLORENCE  FINCH  KELLY 

'  The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel" 


From  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle: 

"  Western  men  and  women  will  read  it  because  it  paints 
faithfully  the  life  which  they  know  so  well,  and  because  it 
gives  us  three  big,  manly  fellows,  fine  types  of  the  cowboy 
at  his  best.  Eastern  readers  will  be  attracted  by  its  splendid 
realism." 

From  Julian  Haiathorne  : 

"  For  my  own  part,  I  finished  it  all  in  one  day,  and  dreamt 
it  over  again  that  night.  And  I  am  an  old  hand,  heaven 
knows/' 

From  the  Denver  Times  : 

"  Mrs.  Kelly's  characters  stand  out  from  the  background  of 
the  New  Mexican  plains,  desert  and  mountain  with  all  the 
distinctness  of  a  Remington  sketch." 

With  six  illustrations,  in  color,  by  Dan  Smith 
Price,  £1.50 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


'  DIFFICULT  TO   FORGET  " 

A   FEARSOME 
RIDDLE 

By  MAX  EHRMAN 


This  mystery  story,  based  on  the  theory  of  the 
arithmetical  rhythm  of  time,  contains  much  of  the  same 
fascination  that  attaches  to  the  tales  of  Poe.  Simply 
told,  yet  dramatic  and  powerful  in  its  unique  conception, 
it  has  a  convincing  ring  that  is  most  impressive.  The 
reader  can  not  evade  a  haunting  conviction  that  this 
wonderful  experiment  must  in  reality  have  taken  place. 
Delightful  to  read,  difficult  to  forget,  the  book  must  evoke 
a  wide  discussion. 

With  Pictures  by  Virginia  Keep 
12  mo.     Cloth,  $1.00 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A   NOV-EL   OF   EARLY  NEW  YORK 

PATROON  VAN 
VOLKENBERG 

By  HENRY  THEW  STEPHENSON 


From  the  New  York  Press: 

"  Many  will  compare  '  Patroon  Van  Volkenberg,'  with  its 
dash,  style  and  virility,  with  '  Richard  Carvel,'  and  in  that 
respect  they  will  be  right,  as  one  would  compare  the  strong, 
sturdy  and  spreading  elm  with  a  slender  sapling." 

The  action  of  this  stirring  story  begins  when  New  York 
was  a  little  city  of  less  than  5,000  inhabitants. 

The  Governor  has  forbidden  the  port  to  the  free  traders  or 
pirate  ships,  which  sailed  boldly  under  their  own  flag ;  while 
the  Patroon  and  his  merchant  colleagues  not  only  traded  openly 
with  the  buccaneers,  but  owned  and  managed  such  illicit  craft. 
The  story  of  the  clash  of  these  conflicting  interests  and  the 
resulting  exciting  happenings  is  absorbing. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  tale  is  fresh  in  fiction,  the  plot  is 
stirring  and  well  knit,  and  the  author  is  possessed  of  the  ability 
to  write  forceful,  fragrant  English. 

From  the  Brooklyn  Standard-  Union  : 

"The  tale  is  one  of  vibrant  quality.  It  can  not  be  read  at  a 
leisurely  pace.  It  bears  the  reader  through  piratical  seas  and 
buccaneering  adventures,  through  storm  and  stress  of  many 
sorts,  but  it  lands  him  safely,  and  leads  him  to  peace." 

izmo, 
Illustrated  in  color  by  C.  M.  Relyea 

Price,  $1.50 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  STORY  OF  THE   MORGAN   RAID, 
DURING  THE  WAR  of  the  REBELLION 


THE 
LEGIONARIES 

By  HENRY  SCOTT  CLARK 


The  Memphis  Commercial- Appeal  says  : 
"  The  backbone  of  the  story  is  Morgan's  great  raid  —  one  of 
the  most  romantic  and  reckless  pieces  of  adventure  ever 
attempted  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Mr.  Clark's  descrip- 
tion of  the  Ride  of  the  Three  Thousand  is  a  piece  of  litera- 
ture that  deserves  to  live ;  and  is  as  fine  in  its  way  as  the 
chariot  race  from  '  Ben  Hur.'  " 

The  Cincinnati  Commercial-Tribune  says  : 

" '  The  Legionaries '  is  pervaded  with  what  seems  to  be  the 
true  spirit  of  artistic  impartiality.  The  author  is  simply 
a  narrator.  He  stands  aside,  regarding  with  equal  eye  all 
the  issues  involved  and  the  scales  dip  not  in  his  hands.  To 
sum  up,  the  first  romance  of  the  new  day  on  the  Ohio  is  an 
eminently  readable  one  —  a  good  yarn  well  spun." 

The  Rochester  Herald  says  : 

"The  appearance  of  a  new  novel  in  the  West  marks  an 
epoch  in  fiction  relating  to  the  war  between  the  sections  for 
the  preservation  of  the  Union.  '  The  Legionaries '  is  a 
remarkable  book,  and  we  can  scarcely  credit  the  assurance 
that  it  is  the  work  of  a  new  writer." 

1 2 mo,  illustrated        Price,  Si. 50 


The  Bowen  -  Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A   STORY   TOLD    BY  A    REAL   STORY- 
TELLER 


A    SON    OF 
AUSTERITY 

By  GEORGE  KNIGHT 


Mr.  Knight  has  created  a  real  atmosphere  for  his  men  and 
women  to  breathe,  and  his  men  and  women  take  deep  breaths. 
They  are  alive,  they  are  human,  they  are  real. 

He  has  a  delightful  story  to  tell  and  knows  how  to  tell 
it.  It  is  a  story  of  human  life,  of  possible  people  in  possible 
situations,  living  out  their  little  span  of  life  in  that  state  in 
which  it  has  pleased  God  to  call  them. 

The  reader  realizes  at  once  that  Mr.  Knight  is  a  man  who 
served  his  seven  years  of  apprenticeship  before  opening  a  shop 
on  his  own  account. 

The  deftness  and  charm  of  his  literary  style,  combined 
with  the  absorbing  interest  of  the  story,  can  not  but  prove  a 
delight  to  every  reader. 

With  a  frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher 
izmo,  Cloth.      Price,  $1.50 

The  Liverpool  Mercury  says  : 

11  This  is  a  book  far  removed  from  the  ordinary  mass  of  fea- 
tureless fiction.  There  is  no  gainsaying  the  strength  of 
characterization  and  the  command  of  English  language." 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,   Indianapolis 


VIGOROUS,  ELEMENTAL,  DRAMATIC 

A   HEART 
OF  FLAME 

The  story  of  a  Master  Passion 

BY  CHARLES  FLEMING  EMBREE 

Author  of  "A  Dream  of  a  Throne." 


The  men  and  women  in  this  story  are  children  of  the 
soil.  Their  strength  is  in  their  nearness  to  nature.  Their 
minds  are  vigorous,  their  bodies  powerful,  their  passions 
elemental,  their  courage  sublime.  They  are  loyal  in  friend- 
ship, persistent  in  enmity,  determined  in  purpose. 

The  story  is  a  story  of  great  wrongs  and  of  supreme  love. 
It  is  done  in  black  and  white,  with  few  strokes,  but  they  are 
masterly.  The  shadows  at  the  back  are  somber  but  the 
value  of  contrast  is  appreciated  for  the  vivid  high  light  in 
the  foreground. 

It  is  a  work  of  art— powerful,  convincing  and  abiding. 
Powerful,  because  true  to  life;  convincing,  for  it  has  the 
saving  touch  of  humor;  and  abiding  because  love,  like  "A 
Heart  of  Flame,"  prevails  in  the  end. 

With  illustrations  by  Dan  Smith 
i2mo.  cloth.    Price,  $1.50. 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


*•   '2~7t989 


FEB 


fi^/^mc^ 

AUG  1  0 1994 


DUE  2  WKS 


.-  4  y  1994 

N6N-RENEWABLE 


DUE  2  WKSFROl  DATE  RECEIVED 


